


Our forever starts today

by fallingintodivinity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Dean Winchester, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Schmoop, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Stanford AU, Stanford Era, Top Sam Winchester, mistaken for boyfriends, pre-canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:45:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintodivinity/pseuds/fallingintodivinity
Summary: Sam’s first two years at Stanford are pretty ordinary, if you disregard the part where he misses his brother so much that he keeps one of Dean’s old T-shirts under his pillow. At the beginning of junior year, though, Dean stops by unexpectedly after a hunt, then just…keeps dropping by, for one reason or another.Now Sam’s got to deal with hiding his feelings for his (mercifully) oblivious brother, all his friends think Dean’s his boyfriend, he’s overdue on a paper and hasn't started studying for finals, there may or may not be a poltergeist in the basement rec room, and, oh yeah, Dean found that damn T-shirt he’s had under his pillow for close on three years now.And he’d thought college life would besimple.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) A short note on timing: In the show, Sam is 19 when he leaves for college and is 22 at the start of the series when he’s a senior, so in this story, he starts out 21 years old and turns 22 in May near the end of his junior year.
> 
> 2) **The E rating is for later chapters – most of this story is T-rated.**

  

_There's burning in your eyes_  
_Craving I can't hide, that's raging through the heart of me_  
_Just like a wild fire, I want to touch the spark_  
_But I'm safer in the dark_  
_I'm scared to see what happens_  
_If we let it go too far_

_\- ‘Don’t Wanna Love You’, Colbie Caillat_

 

  

The last person Sam expects to see on his doorstep when he gets back to his dorm after his final class of the day is his big brother.

He blinks, blinks again, but Dean’s still there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, wearing the same worn leather jacket he’d had on the last time Sam had seen him just over two years ago.

“Dean?” he says.

“Hiya, Sammy,” says Dean.

“Uh,” says Sam. The last time he’d seen Dean was a couple of years ago, just before getting on the bus that had brought him here to Stanford. Dean had walked him to the bus stop, then as the bus pulled up, he’d given Sam a hard, quick hug then stepped back, looking down at the ground, eyes shadowed. After Sam had gotten on the bus and found a seat, when he’d craned his neck to peer out the grimy window at the bus stop receding back into the distance, Dean had been staring after the bus, looking so lost that it’d broken Sam’s heart in two.

He hadn’t heard from Dean since then – not until today. So for Dean to be here now…

“Is everything okay?” Sam asks quickly, worry spiking sudden and sharp in his gut, making his brow furrow and the corners of his mouth turn down. He reflexively looks Dean over from head to toe, but his brother doesn’t have any injuries that he can see.

Dean nods. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough, then clears his throat. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Dad and I are on separate hunts right now, and I was in the area.” He shifts his weight, looking uncertain. “Just wanted to stop by, say hi to my little brother.”

“Oh,” says Sam, then just stands there and stares at Dean, drinking in the sight of him. As the surge of adrenaline and worry ebbs, it hits him hard, now that Dean is standing right there in front of him, just how much he’s missed his big brother the past couple of years.

Homesickness is one thing, but most people probably don’t sneak one of their sibling’s T-shirts into their bag and bring it to college with them because they’re unable to bear the thought of being so far away from said sibling. Sam is not most people.

Sam knows it’s not normal, the way he feels about his brother, but, well. He can’t help the way he feels, has felt for years now, and – in this case at least – what Dean doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Sam’s been in love with Dean for so long that it feels like an essential part of him now, carved indelible into his heart and sunken deep into his bones.

Dean is starting to look uncomfortable. “I can go, if it’s a bad time – ” he says.

Sam shakes his head quickly. “No, no, sorry, I just. Uh.” He fumbles his keys out of his pocket and nods toward the doors of his dorm building. “C’mon in.”

He walks the two flights of stairs up to his apartment, Dean trailing silently behind him. Sam had lucked out on the dorm assignments; he'd been assigned to a tiny two-bedroom, one-bath apartment which he shares with one roommate, instead of being assigned one of the even tinier dorm rooms on the first floor.

As Sam opens the door to his apartment, he finds himself jittering a little nervously, fretting about what Dean will think; despite his best efforts, Sam’s never quite been able to quash his hunger for Dean’s attention, his craving for Dean’s smiles and approval.

He watches his brother as Dean looks around at the miniscule kitchen, countertop mostly bare – neither Sam nor his roommate Gary are particularly keen cooks – at the cramped living room, at the narrow couch in front of the TV with Gary’s Playstation 2 tucked into the tiny shelf beneath it.

“Nice place,” Dean comments. He gives Sam a tiny smile.

“Thanks,” says Sam, feeling a little awkward. _Shit._ He misses the easy closeness he and Dean’d had, before his last knock-down, drag-out screaming match with Dad, before he’d moved halfway across the country and left the love of his life behind. _Before._ He doesn’t regret it, coming to Stanford, but…

Sam barely manages to stop himself from flinching as he watches Dean sit down gingerly on the couch. The Dean of two years ago would have sprawled on the couch like he owned it, his presence filling up all the space in the room; the concept of himself and Sam having separate bubbles of personal space wouldn’t even have _occurred_ to that Dean.

This new Dean, careful and a little hesitant, as if he’s no longer sure of his place in Sam’s life – it makes something cold and hollow gnaw at Sam’s chest, makes him feel like his lungs are suddenly two sizes too small. It _hurts,_ this distance between them, even though Sam was the one who put it there.

“What’s your plan for today?” he asks Dean.

“Drive a few more hours, grab some dinner, find somewhere to sleep.” Dean shrugs. “The usual.”

“Do you,” Sam says hesitantly, “wanna stay here tonight?”

Dean shakes his head quickly. “Nah, Sammy, don’t wanna trouble you,” he says, but the expression on his face is just a tiny bit hopeful, so Sam decides to push his luck.

“Stay,” he says, taking a step forward and sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, facing Dean. “It’s no trouble.”

Dean looks at him searchingly for a long moment. “Yeah, okay,” he says finally, and Sam relaxes.

“Gary – that’s my roommate – is staying with his girlfriend for a few days, so it’ll just be the two of us,” he says. “You can have the couch. I’ve got a spare blanket and pillows in my closet, I’ll go get them – ” He jumps to his feet and is halfway to his room before realizing that if Dean’s staying with him, his brother probably needs to go get his duffle, since he showed up on Sam’s doorstep empty-handed.

“Your bag’s in the car?” he asks, turning around to face Dean. Dean's gotten up from the couch and is standing in the middle of the living room watching him, lips quirked.

“What?” Sam asks self-consciously. “Something on my face?”

Dean shakes his head, then grins at Sam, green eyes bright. “’S nothing. I’ll go get my bag.”

 

***

 

After Dean gets back with his duffle and a six-pack of beers, which he leaves in the fridge, Sam brings Dean to his dining hall for dinner. Dean orders himself a burger and scoffs at Sam’s Cobb salad, and even when they’re facing each other across a scratched Formica tabletop in a college dining hall rather than inside the booth of a diner in some nameless little town, it’s all so damned _familiar_ that suddenly, Sam can barely swallow his mouthful of salad around the prickling behind his eyes and the lump in his throat.

Something of what he’s feeling must show on his face, because Dean’s eyeing him oddly.

“What’s the matter?” Dean asks.

“Nothing,” Sam says, a little too quickly, then adds, because he can’t quite face the concern in those vivid green eyes right now, “uh. Salad tastes a bit weird today.”

Dean casts the salad a disgusted look. “That’s ‘cause salad’s not a _food_ , Sam.”

“I’m watching my – ”

“ – cholesterol, I know.” Dean rolls his eyes dramatically, and Sam can’t help but laugh.

“If you’re not careful,” he says, “your face’ll get stuck that way.”

Dean snickers at him and polishes off the last of his burger, and Sam’s still smiling when he goes to return their trays.

After dinner, they return to Sam’s apartment and spend the next few hours sprawled on the worn couch watching shitty movies on TV and making their way through the beers that Dean brought. Sam tells Dean about the classes he’s been taking and Dean tells Sam about his last hunt and the next thing Sam knows, the beers are gone and both he and Dean are yawning hugely, blinking sleepily at the TV as the credits roll.

Sam gets Dean settled on the couch with his spare pillows and blanket and draws the curtains. He lets his eyes linger on his brother as he goes to turn the lights off.

“G’night, Dean.” He flips the switch, throwing the living room into darkness save for the thin strip of moonlight peeking from between the gap in the curtains and painting a bright diagonal across the living room rug and over Dean’s blanket-covered legs. Dean’s face is barely visible in the faint light, sleepy and relaxed.

“’night, Sam,” Dean mumbles through another huge yawn.

Sam goes into his room, shuts the door and flicks the light switch off, leaving only his bedside light on, then goes over to his narrow twin bed, sitting heavily down on it with a sigh. He smooths a restless hand over his pillow then lets his hand hover at the corner, hesitating; finally, casting a quick, guilty glance at the still-closed door, he slips his hand under his pillow, pulling out a worn black T-shirt from beneath it, lovingly folded.

It’s one of Dean’s old T-shirts, a black one with a white AC/DC logo emblazoned across the front. Sam stares down at it, tracing gentle fingers over the faded lettering. He’d snuck it out of Dean’s duffle the night before he’d left for Stanford, hastily wrapped it in a clean plastic bag and stuck it into his own duffle hidden under a messy pile of his own clothes.

The first few months at Stanford, he’d been unable to fall asleep unless he was curled around the T-shirt, surrounded by Dean’s familiar scent. He’d shut his eyes and pretend that Dean was right there, asleep on the other side of the room, long lashes dark against his cheeks and plush pink lips parted slightly, his soft even breaths lulling Sam into a light doze. Even now, Sam’s never quite been able to sleep well without sliding one hand under his pillow and tangling his fingers in the soft, well-worn fabric of the T-shirt.

And now – after months of trying so hard not to think about Dean, countless times picking up his phone to call Dean only to put the phone down without actually hitting the call button, seeing him again so suddenly has made Sam feel vulnerable, flayed wide open. He turns his bedside light off and flops back onto his bed in the darkened room, and as he shuts his eyes he turns his head to one side, burying his face in the T-shirt. It doesn’t smell of Dean any more, of course, but. It’s still _Dean’s_. Much like Sam himself is.

By the time he wakes up the next morning, Dean’s already left, the pillow and blanket folded neatly on the couch the only reminder of his presence in Sam’s apartment the night before.

 

***

 

Nearly a month passes before Sam sees Dean again.

It’s a muggy summer evening, the sweltering heat of the day just beginning to fade as the sun sinks lower in a cloudless blue sky. Sam’s stretched out on his stomach on top of the covers on his bed, right by the window where it’s a little cooler. Yawning, he idly taps the cap of his pen against his lower lip. He’s halfheartedly trying to work on his Ethics paper but is really mostly kind of dozing off when the doorbell rings.

“Ugh,” Sam mumbles to himself. He’s too damned tired to get up, but his roommate probably forgot his keys again and is going to keep ringing the doorbell until Sam gets his ass out of bed and opens the door for him.

He drags himself out of bed just as the doorbell goes again, but when he finally makes it to the front door and opens it, it’s not his roommate on the doorstep.

“Hey,” says Dean. He’s got a fading bruise over one cheekbone and his left arm has a hastily-tied bandage on it.

Sam blinks. “Hey,” he says. He pushes the door open wider. “C’mon in.”

He gets Dean settled on the couch with a cold beer out of the six-pack he’d picked up a couple of days ago, then while Dean’s distracted by the beer, Sam grabs a first-aid kit from his room, sits down on the couch next to his brother and starts unwinding the bandage from Dean’s arm, pointedly ignoring the indignant noises his brother makes.

He gently cleans the cut on his brother’s arm, letting Dean’s grumbling wash over him – “geez, Sammy, I’m _fine_ ,” (he is, thankfully: the cut’s long but shallow, nothing too serious) and “wouldn’t have come if I’d known you were gonna _fuss_ ,” (likely untrue: the day Sam doesn’t worry about his big brother is the day they bury him six feet under and Dean had damn well better know it).

They’ve done this for each other a million times, cleaning and bandaging cuts and scrapes and bruises, some more serious than others. This cut is barely a scratch and Sam relaxes into the familiar motions, binding Dean’s arm with gentle fingers. When he’s done, he looks up to find Dean watching him intently, eyes soft with a kind of desperate fondness which makes Sam’s throat go dry and his heart thump a little faster against his ribcage, and he can’t make himself look away.

Dean’s the one who looks away first, clearing his throat awkwardly. When he meets Sam’s gaze again, his expression is carefully blank.

“Well? Are you done?” Dean demands, raising an imperious eyebrow.

Sam licks his lips. “Y-yeah,” he says. “All done.” He ducks his head, clearing away the bloodied bandages as Dean self-consciously clears his throat again and takes a long pull of his beer.

 

***

 

After dinner, Sam coaxes Dean into agreeing to spend the night at his place again, then tentatively suggests to his brother that they go for a drive. He spares a brief thought for the Ethics paper he was working on, which is still mostly unwritten and due tomorrow morning, but there really isn’t any contest: he hasn’t seen his big brother in a month, and if Dean’s going to disappear early tomorrow morning like he did the last time he stayed with Sam, then Sam’s going to make the most of whatever time he does have with Dean.

He slides into the passenger seat of the Impala and it’s so easy and familiar that it’s almost like he never left, warm familiar scent of leather and the gentle purring of the engine and Dean beside him, one arm slung over the back of the seat.

They drive for just over an hour to one of the state parks where Sam’s hiked a few times since coming to Stanford. It’s an easy drive, the roads quiet at this time of night. When they reach the park, Dean cuts the engine and they both get out of the car.

The sky is dark and clear, not a single cloud to be seen, and they settle side-by-side on the hood of the Impala, lying back to look up at the stars. Sam glances over at Dean, one arm tucked behind his head, green eyes bright as he raises his other arm to point out some constellation or other, and is overcome by a wave of affection for his brother so overwhelming that he pretty much misses whatever Dean just said.

Dean doesn’t seem to mind, though, simply rolls his eyes at Sam and repeats himself when Sam makes a questioning noise. The night breeze is cool on Sam’s skin and the sky a vast inky canvas painted with an infinity of twinkling stars, Dean close enough that Sam can feel the warmth pouring off him, and Sam can’t remember the last time he felt this content.

They must be there for a couple of hours at least, gazing up at the stars and talking quietly, but it feels like no time has passed at all when they get back into the Impala to make the drive back to Stanford. Dean parks around the corner from Sam’s apartment building, kills the engine, then hesitates, uncertainty plain in the tilt of his head, the tense line of his spine.

Sam gets out of the car, digs his keys out of his pocket and waits, making it clear that he’s not going anywhere. After a moment, Dean gets out of the car and grabs his duffle from the back seat. Sam smiles, something soft and warm curling in his chest, and leads the way to his apartment. His roommate’s just heading into his own room when they get back; he shoots Dean a curious glance but doesn’t say anything, just nods at Sam and closes the door to his room.

After Dean’s settled on the couch with pillows and a blanket, Sam goes into his room, shuts the door, looks at his barely-written Ethics paper spread out on his bed and sighs. He ends up having to pull an all-nighter to finish the paper in time to meet the submission deadline, Dean’s gone by the time he stumbles exhaustedly out of his room at 7.30 in the morning and he sleeps through his 8am lecture, but Sam’s still in a better mood that day than he’s been in what feels like _forever_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Dean shows up again a couple of weeks later, Jess is over at Sam’s apartment to work on their Sociology project. Sam’s classmate Brady had introduced him to Jess during freshman orientation, and while Jess had flirted with Sam a little initially, she’d quickly realized that she wasn’t getting any kind of response, positive or otherwise. Sam, for his part, had just been starting to realize that – unhealthy obsession with Dean aside – while he liked girls just fine, his preferences were skewed significantly towards partners of his own gender.

Once _that_ misunderstanding had been sorted out, Jess had pretty much become Sam’s best friend at Stanford. They’d registered for a number of classes together, and always tried to do groupwork together when they could.

They’re sitting opposite each other at the narrow dining table in Sam’s living room, deep in a discussion about organizational incentive strategies, when the doorbell rings. Sam blinks in surprise, putting his pen down and padding barefoot over to the front door as Jess tucks her long blonde hair behind one ear, picking up a cookie from the plate at her elbow and idly nibbling on it.

Sam opens the door to find Dean standing on the other side, duffle slung over one shoulder.

“Oh,” he says in surprise.

Dean’s gaze slants from Sam, over Sam’s shoulder, to where Jess is sitting at the table staring at him.

“Oh, hey,” he says, looking awkward. “Didn’t know you had company, Sammy. I’ll go.”

“No, hey, stay,” Sam says quickly, and makes a grab for Dean’s arm just as Dean turns away, mumbling, “gotta get something to eat, anyway.”

Sam ends up grabbing the strap of Dean’s duffle, pulling it off his brother’s shoulder; both men start as the duffle lands on the floor with a loud thump. Jess is watching them with open fascination as they both crouch on the floor and fumble awkwardly for the duffle, Sam mumbling, “Jesus, Dean, leave your bag at least,” and Dean griping, “gimme that, Sam.”

Sam wins the tug-of-war by dint of poking Dean in the ticklish spot under his armpit and as Dean loses his balance, flails wildly and sits down hard on the floor with an indignant squawk, Sam picks up Dean’s duffle and marches triumphantly into his bedroom to put it on the floor by his bed.

Sam comes out of his bedroom just in time to see Dean pick himself up off the floor with as much dignity as he can muster and turn to Jess with a charming smile.

“Hi,” he says, “I’m Dean,” and as Jess smiles politely at his brother, Sam freezes momentarily, a mixture of guilt and panic churning in his gut: does Dean expect Sam’s friends to recognize him? It’s probably reasonable for Dean to expect that Sam’s mentioned him, that Sam’s friends would recognize his name, right…?

The thing is, Sam’s never really talked to his friends about his family. It’d hurt too much to talk about Dean at all the first few months, he’d been missing his brother so badly that even _thinking_ about Dean made him feel like he was going to splinter apart – and in any case, he hadn’t had the faintest idea of how to _begin_ to explain Dean to his friends: brother, best friend, the boy who was his first crush, the man he’s now in love with – and after the first couple of months, his friends had learned that he didn’t really talk about his family, and they’d stopped asking.

Dean’s clearly noticed Jess’s non-reaction to his name and Sam can’t help it, he flinches. Dean’s gaze flicks toward Sam, caught by the movement, and there’s a split second of hurt on his face, there and gone so quickly that Sam only sees it because he has a lifetime of watching Dean under his belt.

Sam’s frozen, doesn’t know what to do to make this better, and before he can react, his brother grins cheerfully at Jess – Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Sam’s probably the only one in the world who can tell – and makes some excuse about having something to do, and he’s out the door before Sam can think of anything to say.

Once the door shuts Jess is beside Sam, grabbing his arm and peering inquisitively up at him, eyebrows raised. “Something you want to tell me, Sam?” she says teasingly.

“Uh,” says Sam awkwardly.

“He’s _way_ hotter than the last two guys you went out with,” and Jess is grinning now, “and wow, you _definitely_ have a type. Blond hair, green eyes, broad shoulders…it’s like every single guy I’ve ever seen you date has been an inferior copy of Dean.”

Sam blinks. “Oh god,” he mumbles, eyes widening. It’s not like he _consciously_ goes out looking for guys who resemble Dean or something, but now that Jess has pointed it out…Sam kind of wants to crawl into a corner and die of embarrassment.

Also, now there’s no way he can tell Jess that Dean’s his brother without making it sound like he’s a freak who’s got a thing for his brother. Which, well, he _is_ , but he’s not particularly keen to advertise the fact.

Jess is watching Sam closely, and she looks concerned. “Sam?” she says gently. “Are you alright?”

“Er,” Sam ducks his head and bites his lip awkwardly, rubbing a hand sheepishly at the back of his neck. There’re probably a number of ways he could attempt to explain this, but what actually comes out of his mouth is a mumbled, “we’re not – it's, it’s not like that. He doesn’t feel that way about me.”

Jess looks doubtful, but her gaze is soft, sympathetic.

“Not that I could tell from the way he looks at you,” she says lightly, then slips her arm through Sam’s, squeezing lightly, and turns him around so that he’s facing the front door. “C’mon, go talk to him. We’ll finish our project later.”

Sam smiles sheepishly at his friend, giving her a quick hug. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Don’t thank me.” Jess is totally laughing at him. “I expect you to tell me every single detail, later!”

 

***

 

After looking in the dining hall and the lawn and finding no sign of Dean, Sam checks back at his apartment, but his brother isn’t there, either. He drops by the library, not really holding out much hope of finding Dean there – but there he is, slumped in a chair with his nose in a book. Dean isn’t reading so much as dozing on the book, head turned to one side with his cheek pressed into the pages, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Despite himself, Sam can’t help his fond smile at the sight.

Dean abruptly starts awake when Sam pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down on it.

“Are you trying to absorb the information directly from the book into your brain?” Sam asks.

“Ha ha.” Dean scowls halfheartedly at Sam. He sits a little straighter in his chair, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with both hands. “Man, I fuckin’ hate doing research.”

“Yeah, I think you might’ve mentioned that before.” Sam grins, cheered when his brother’s lips tug up in a reluctant answering smile. He tugs the book over. “I’ll help. What’re you looking for?”

It turns out that apparently Dean’s here at Sam’s place because he’s heading out on a short hunt in the area tomorrow morning, which his brother offhandedly mentions as they’re heading out of the library after finding the information he wanted.

“You can leave your stuff here if you want,” Sam says immediately. “Pick it up when you’re done with the hunt.”

Dean glances at him out of the corner of his eye, a little unsure, and Sam knows exactly what Dean’s thinking: that he’s not quite certain if he’s wanted here, that Sam didn’t even care enough to mention his brother to his friends. And it hurts that he’s inadvertently made Dean feel like that, especially when that’s so far from the truth that it’s laughable but it’s not like Sam can tell Dean the real reason he didn’t tell his friends about him, so.

“Nah, man,” Dean says finally, shaking his head. “You’re busy with your schoolwork and your girl, I’ll just be in the way.”

“It’ll be fine,” insists Sam. “And Jess isn’t my girlfriend.”

Dean raises a disbelieving eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.

“I’ll do your laundry,” Sam offers. He stifles a smile when Dean immediately stops in his tracks, perking up.

Dean turns and narrows his eyes at Sam, looking suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

Sam shrugs. “I’ve gotta do my laundry anyway. I’ll just throw your stuff in as well.”

Dean is visibly wavering and Sam grins, smelling victory; no way will Dean pass up a chance to have his laundry done for him. His smile softens at the memory of himself and Dean taking turns to do the laundry when they were on the road with Dad, making ridiculous bets with each other and then going to even more ridiculous lengths to win because the loser would have to do laundry for a month. He thinks of Dean now doing the laundry on his own, sitting at a laundromat all by himself without Sam for company, and then he has to stop thinking about it because now he’s just making himself sad.

“Jess won’t mind?” Dean says abruptly. “If I stay?”

“Huh?” Sam says, jolted out of his thoughts.

Dean looks exasperated. “Your girlfriend, spaceman. Jess, remember her?”

“She really isn’t my girlfriend,” Sam says. “So no, she won’t mind.” He hesitates, glancing quickly at Dean from beneath his bangs, then adds quietly, as they push the library doors open and walk out into the sunlit quad, “she’s, um, not really my type.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “What, she too smart for you or something?” he says jokingly.

“Too female,” Sam admits, pulse beating frantically in his throat. He feels lightheaded, a little panicky, and he shoves down the hysterical laugh that wants to bubble out of his chest at the almost comically surprised look on his brother’s face.

“Huh,” says Dean, then lapses into a thoughtful silence. Sam’s seen Dean flirt with both men and women, so he’s not _really_ worried that Dean’s going to react badly to this revelation, but it’s still nerve-wracking, saying it out loud. He’s only ever told Jess – and that had been by necessity, really – and he suspects his roommate Gary might’ve guessed, but that’s about it.

“Dean?” he ventures tentatively, after they’ve walked for a couple of minutes in silence.

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean shoots him a gleeful grin. “Just thinking about how _awesome_ it’s going to be to come back to a bag full of freshly washed clothes,” and Sam laughs, the knot in his stomach dissipating.

 

***

 

It’s the first time Dean stays with Sam for more than one night.

He’s already left by the time Sam wakes up the next morning, but his duffle’s still on the floor by Sam’s bed. Sam tosses Dean’s dirty clothes in with his laundry like he promised, and Dean comes back at midnight two days later limping slightly, blood soaking slowly through one leg of his jeans.

Sam patches his brother up and insists that he sleep in the bed while Sam takes the couch. Dean initially refuses, but he’s exhausted enough from the hunt that he falls asleep while they’re sitting in the tiny twin bed together watching a movie on Sam’s laptop. Sam smiles gently, tucks his softly snoring brother in and goes out to the living room with an armful of pillows and blankets.

The next morning, Dean wanders out from the bedroom as Sam’s sitting on the couch yawning and trying to work the cricks out of his neck from sleeping all scrunched up on a couch that isn’t long enough to accommodate his full height.

“Morning,” Sam says, looking up at his brother.

“Good morning!” Dean replies, loud and cheery, and sits down on the couch next to Sam.

Sam eyes him warily. “You’re awfully happy this morning.”

“Look what I found under your pillow,” Dean says, grinning brightly. He waves a wad of black cloth at Sam, and damn it, it’s the fucking T-shirt that Sam stole out of Dean’s duffle right before he’d come to Stanford. He can’t even pretend that he’d mistaken it for one of his own T-shirts because like the idiot he is, he’d taken the one with the AC/DC logo on it – _clearly_ Dean’s – instead of grabbing a plain one.

Dean’s already blinding grin ratchets up a few more notches. “Guess you really _did_ miss me, huh, Sammy?”

Sam feels his entire face grow hot. “Shut up, jerk,” he says halfheartedly, elbowing his brother in the side. But honestly, he’s so happy to have his confident, cocky brother back instead of the hurt, unsure version of Dean from earlier, that he can’t even regret that Dean found the stupid T-shirt and will now spend the entirety of the rest of their lives periodically reminding Sam of this fact.

 

***

 

Over the next few months, Dean drops by a few more times, in between hunts or when Dad’s away for some reason or other. Sam gradually arrives at the quiet, pleased realization that Dean seems more confident now about his place in Sam’s life, doesn’t hesitate to use the spare key Sam gave to him and stroll into Sam’s apartment, makes himself comfortable on the couch that Sam is now starting to think of as Dean’s. Sometimes, he even stays for two or three days at a time.

Once, Dean teasingly offers Sam one of his T-shirts, “since you liked that one under your pillow so much”. Sam scowls at him and decides that now is probably not the time to mention that he’d actually nicked another T-shirt out of his brother’s duffle that time he’d promised to do Dean’s laundry for him.

Typically, his brother’s also charmed himself into the good graces of all Sam’s friends. Brady and some of the other guys Sam knows from various classes and hangs out with now and then seem to take it as a given that if Dean’s around, he’ll join them whenever they all do lunches or dinners together; Jess and her friends Carmen and Pam think that Sam and Dean are “adorable”, which Sam has made them swear to never, ever say to Dean’s face. Even his roommate, Gary – whom Sam had been worried might not be happy about him constantly having a guest sleeping in their living room – adores Dean: they’d bonded over their mutual love of burgers and hatred of Sam’s salads.

Today’s one of those rare days when Sam and his friends all have a free hour in between their various classes, and they’re all bought lunch and met up in the quad to eat together. Dean’s gone to buy lunch for himself and Sam and is on his way to the quad to meet them; he’s leaving for a hunt that evening but he’d needed to look up some detail about an ancient pagan ritual first, so he’d very reluctantly spent an hour in the library that morning while Sam was in a lecture.

Sam and his friends are all sprawled out on the grassy lawn in the middle of the quad while Tom – one of Sam’s classmates who’s in the same dorm as he is – is complaining about how he’d almost broken his ankle tripping over a kettlebell someone had left lying in the middle of their dorm's basement rec room. Sam starts as a sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil lands in his lap.

Sam looks up, lifting a hand to shade his eyes against the bright sunlight as Dean plops down on the grass beside him, stretching his legs out.

“Thanks,” he says to Dean. “Is this – ”

“Yup,” says Dean, busily unwrapping his Philly cheesesteak. “Chicken sandwich, even got you extra lettuce and everything.” He takes a bite of his cheesesteak and sighs happily.

“Hey, dude,” Tom says to Dean in greeting, then turns back to the rest of the group to continue his story. “So I don’t even know _why_ there was a kettlebell in the rec room. It’s weird, man. It’s like someone’s been pulling a bunch of pointless pranks recently – I heard last week someone found all the board games pulled off the shelves and thrown on the floor, there were cards and Monopoly pieces and shit everywhere.” He rubs at his bruised ankle.

“Yeah,” Gary pipes up gloomily. “It took _hours_ to get everything sorted out. I hope someone catches this asshole in the act soon.”

“Maybe your dorm’s haunted.” Pam laughs.

Gary makes a face. “God, I hope not.”

Sam leans over, mouth close to Dean’s ear so his friends won’t overhear. “Found what you needed to know about that ritual?”

Dean nods. “Think so,” he says, voice low.

“Okay,” says Sam, eyeing his brother worriedly. “Be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” Dean replies cheerfully. “By the way, you’ve got mustard on your face.”

“What?” Sam swipes a hand over his mouth. “Where?”

Dean smirks. “Always were a messy eater, Sammy.” He leans close, swiping a finger over the corner of Sam’s mouth, then – oh _god_ – sticks his finger in his mouth, sucking the mustard off. Sam feels himself blushing, and hopes desperately that nobody notices.

“Aww,” Jess mouths at Sam, smiling impishly as Dean turns away to lob his balled-up sandwich wrapper into a nearby trash can. Sam scowls at her and tries to make his blush go away by sheer force of will.

Sam, like the gigantic coward he is, still hasn’t told any of his friends that Dean’s his brother. He’s just been introducing Dean by name, and is very carefully _not_ thinking about the kinds of assumptions people are making since they _don’t_ know that he and Dean are related. He’s also very carefully not thinking about what _Dean_ thinks of the whole thing.

The downside of all this is that now that Sam’s hanging out with Dean semi-regularly again, all the feelings that he’d managed to keep locked up deep down when Dean wasn’t around have all come bubbling back to the surface. Sam’s right hand has been seeing a lot of action lately, is all he’s saying.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Almost before Sam realizes, the end of the fall term rolls around, and with it comes the beginning of winter break. Sam’s friends are all planning for a big Christmas party at Brady’s place before heading their separate ways for the holidays, but Dean had mentioned a week ago that he’d possibly be coming by a few days before Christmas, and now that the term’s finally over, Sam kind of really just wants a few days to hang out with Dean, just the two of them. They’re just starting to rebuild the closeness they’d had before Sam had left for Stanford; he wants it back so badly it hurts.

All his friends give him knowing looks when he tells them that he and Dean already have plans. Jess, Carmen and Pam whisper to each other and giggle while Brady, Gary and the other guys wink at Sam and make increasingly lewd suggestions that has Sam blushing beet red; if he’d had any doubts before about what exactly his friends had been assuming about himself and Dean, well, he definitely doesn’t now. Sam buries his head in his hands, quietly hoping that none of this gets to Dean’s ears, _ever_.

Either because the universe hates Sam or his luck really just is _that_ bad, Dean shows up right in the middle of that thought. He takes one look at Sam’s flushed cheeks, glances around at Sam’s giggling friends and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Sam looks around helplessly as his friends eye him in amusement, but nobody says a word until Jess takes pity on him and starts telling Dean about how he’s the only one she’s ever heard call Sam ‘Sammy’ and live to tell the tale: Brady had tried it once and Sam had almost taken his head off at the shoulders. Sam’s not particularly sure this is something he wants Dean to be hearing about either – add this to the T-shirt-under-the-pillow incident and Dean will have fodder to tease him about for _years_ – but he’ll take what he can get.

“Well, yeah, _obviously,_ ” says Dean smugly, when Jess pauses to take a breath. “’Cause – ” and Sam _knows_ that Dean’s going to finish that off with something about how it’s Dean’s God-given right as a big brother, and he makes a desperate lunge for the bowl of chips on the table that he disguises as clumsiness and manages to knock his iced coffee off the table, spilling it all over himself and Brady, who’s sitting next to him. There’s a flurry of activity as Brady flails around yelping at all the ice that just got dumped in his lap and the girls grab paper napkins for Sam and Brady, and whatever Dean was about to say gets lost in all the commotion.

Sam does end up having to trek all the way back to his dorm with Dean snickering at his clumsiness and his wet jeans sticking uncomfortably to his thighs, but all in all, he considers it acceptable collateral damage.

 

***

 

Dean shows up two days before Christmas to pick Sam up and drives them to Carmel-By-The-Sea, where they get a motel room for two nights. Dean has to leave the day after Christmas to meet up with Dad, and Sam’s going to stay with Jess for the rest of the week until the winter term starts.

The motel room’s actually pretty nice, small but fairly clean. On Christmas Eve, Sam drags Dean out to the nearest Walmart, where they buy snacks, a stack of DVDs to watch, one of those big buckets of assorted Christmas decorations and enough beer to supply a small house party.

They string Christmas lights haphazardly across the walls of their room, then Sam pours the popcorn they bought into a huge bowl while Dean starts up _Die Hard_ on Sam’s laptop. They sprawl together on Sam’s bed to watch the movie, munching on popcorn and slowly making their way through bottle after bottle of beer.

Sam leans back against the pillows, relaxed and a little nostalgic, happier than he’s been in ages – so of _course_ that’s when he gets complacent and everything goes straight to hell.

By the time they’re nearing the end of _Die Hard 2_ , they’re both pretty wasted and the laptop’s been pushed all the way to the foot of the bed. Sam’s half-sitting up, sprawled against the pillows and he’s not quite sure how Dean’s head ended up in his lap; Dean has his arms and legs all spread out across the bed like a starfish, head turned toward the laptop to watch the movie and he’s practically purring as Sam cards his fingers through his brother’s hair.

Actually, Sam’s not quite sure how and when he started petting Dean’s hair, either, but now that he’s got his fingers all tangled in soft spiky blond hair he can’t quite find the motivation to stop. He’s kinda tipsy and boneless and happy and Dean’s making these soft little contented noises that he’s probably not even aware he’s making, and Sam can’t help himself, the hand in Dean’s hair sliding down to trail tenderly over the soft curve of Dean's cheek, down the sharp line of his jaw…and yeah, at this point Sam’s left ‘platonic’ and ‘brotherly’ twenty miles back in the rearview mirror but he’s too drunk to care.

Dean turns his head toward Sam, leaning into Sam’s touch; he’s not even pretending to watch the movie anymore. His eyes are half-lidded, long thick lashes dark against freckled golden skin as he noses idly at Sam’s stomach where his T-shirt has ridden up, then he hums softly in the back of his throat and presses his lips to the bare skin of Sam’s stomach.

Sam makes a soft, shocked sound; can’t tear his gaze away from Dean’s plush lips on his skin, his hand unconsciously tightening on the graceful curve of Dean’s jaw. It’s that small sound that seems to break whatever spell they’re both under: Dean’s head snaps up to meet Sam’s stunned gaze, his eyes wide and terrified. They’re both frozen like that for a long moment, then suddenly Dean’s scrambling upright and away from Sam, a panicked look on his face.

The rest of the night is…awkward, to say the least. Dean retreats to the other bed and rebuffs each and every one of Sam’s attempts to talk or coax him into watching the rest of the movie. In the end, Sam gives up, shuts his laptop down and curls up under the covers in his bed. He can still feel the phantom warmth of Dean’s lips on his stomach and he’s sure he’s not going to sleep a wink, but in the end the alcohol takes over and he falls asleep to the soft, even sound of Dean’s breathing.

Christmas Day is _awful_. Sam wakes up spectacularly hung over and Dean doesn’t look much better than Sam feels. After they’ve taken turns in the shower and are finally ready to crawl out of the motel and look for food, they have to drive for half an hour before they find a McDonald’s that’s open on Christmas Day.

Dean’s eyes are barely open and he’s been responding to Sam solely in grunts all day. Sam isn’t sure if that’s the hangover talking or if Dean’s still actively trying to avoid him, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean’s just playing up his hangover to use it as an excuse to not speak to Sam.

Sam isn’t quite sure if he’s supposed to be freaking out or not. Maybe Dean doesn’t even _remember_ what happened last night. Or maybe Dean hadn’t meant anything by what he did. Maybe all he’d meant it to be was some kind of normal brotherly thing? Sam can recite the Latin incantation to exorcise a demon in his sleep and put a silver bullet through the heart of a werewolf at fifty paces with his eyes closed; he’s not exactly the world’s foremost expert on normal.

After two cups of coffee and two Egg McMuffins, Sam’s finally feeling slightly more human. As he gets up to toss his McMuffin wrappers in the trash, he just barely brushes against his brother’s arm and Dean promptly jumps about a foot in the air, spilling his coffee all over the table. Right, okay. So Dean definitely remembers what happened last night, then.

Sam wets his lips nervously and swallows hard, watching his brother mop up the spilled coffee. He'd probably be freaking out a bit more about getting drunk and _caressing his brother’s face_ if he wasn't busy being completely distracted by the memory, in technicolor detail, of _exactly_ how Dean had looked and felt with his lips on Sam’s stomach. Well – to be honest, he’s freaking out a little anyway.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of Dean being particularly jumpy around Sam and Sam being preoccupied with trying his best not to freak the fuck out about Dean possibly knowing about Sam’s not-so-brotherly feelings for him, and before Sam knows it, it’s the day after Christmas and Dean’s dropping him off outside Jess’s parents’ house before heading off to meet Dad.

Standing on the street watching the Impala drive away, Sam can’t help but feel a little pathetic about the fact that he’s missing his brother already.

 

***

 

Dean doesn’t show up at Sam’s apartment for the next three months. Sam pulls Dean’s number up on his phone at least a dozen times in those three months without actually dialing. Part of him is worried that Dean just doesn’t want to see him anymore after the Christmas Incident; the other part of him is terrified that something’s happened to Dean and that’s why he hasn’t shown up recently.

The worst part is, if something bad _had_ happened to his brother, Sam’s not a hundred percent sure that Dad would even bother to call him to tell him, given the terms on which they’d parted. It’s with that last thought in mind that he goes into his room, pulls Dean’s number up on his phone again, and finally hits the ‘call’ button.

The phone rings for what feels like forever, then goes to voicemail. Sam hangs up before the voicemail recording starts, then stares at his phone for a long moment. He’s just made up his mind to call back and leave Dean a voicemail, his own insecurities be damned, when he hears the front door open, then shut.

He pokes his head into the living room and finds Dean there, Sam’s spare apartment key still in his hand. Dean looks bleary and red-eyed, and he sneezes violently into the sleeve of his shirt as Sam comes into the room.

Sam relaxes, something deep in him settling at the sight of his brother. “D'you have a cold?” he asks.

“I’m not sick!” Dean snaps, then sneezes again.

“Okay,” Sam says placatingly, then ushers Dean into the living room, takes his duffle from him and sits him down on the couch. He bundles his brother up in a couple of blankets, then shoves a hot mug of tea into Dean’s hands.

Dean stares down gloomily at the mug of tea, then gingerly takes a sip and makes a face. “I hate Wyoming,” he mutters.

“You were in Wyoming?” Sam asks, sitting down next to Dean with his own mug of tea.

“Yeah,” says Dean. “Jackson. Dad and I were tracking a shifter.” He scowls. “Chased the fucker through ten inches of snow and freakin’ twenty degree weather before we wasted him.” He sneezes again, whole body shaking with it, and tea sloshes over the side of his mug.

“Right,” Sam says, handing Dean a tissue, which Dean sniffles miserably into. “You’re not sleeping on the couch like this,” Sam tells him firmly. “You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“What? No!” says Dean, but Sam’s already off the couch and moving Dean’s duffle into his bedroom. He comes back into the living room to take his brother’s half-finished mug of tea from him and shepherd him to the bed, with Dean protesting every step of the way.

Despite all his complaints, Dean falls asleep quickly; he’s obviously exhausted from his illness and the hunt, and the few days’ driving to get from Jackson to Stanford hasn’t done him any favors. Sam spends the night on the couch, and as he’s sitting up, wincing and trying to work out the cricks in his neck the next morning, Dean comes out of the bedroom.

Sam freezes, one hand still rubbing at his neck, but it’s too late: Dean’s scowling and coming over to him. “Told you not to sleep on the couch, gigantor,” he grumbles. “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

Sam’s heart does a little hop in his chest at the confirmation that Dean’s planning to stay for more than just one night, but then he realizes that Dean’s going back into the bedroom to bring his duffle out to the couch, and he hastily jumps up to follow his brother.

He smacks the duffle strap out of Dean’s hand just as his brother picks it up, earning him an outraged look from Dean before his brother sneezes three times in quick succession. “Just leave it, jerk,” Sam tells him, exasperated. “You need rest to get well, and you’ll sleep better on the bed.”

Dean stubbornly picks his duffle up again and Sam lunges for it at the same time and they fall forward onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, faces inches from each other. Dean’s eyes almost cross as he tries to focus on Sam and Sam jerks back quickly, cheeks burning.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch, so we’ll share the bed, okay?” He mentally crosses his fingers and prays that he doesn’t do something horribly embarrassing like humping his brother in his sleep or something.

Dean tips his head, considering, then eyes the narrow bed doubtfully. Sam half-expects that Dean’s going to capitulate and let Sam sleep on the couch after all, but then his brother sneezes again, sniffles a little pathetically, and nods in acquiescence.

That decided, Sam leaves Dean curled up in the bed, a fresh cup of hot tea and a box of tissues by the bedside, then heads out to his classes.

 

***

 

The next morning, Sam wakes up feeling warm and content and _good_.

 _Really_ good.

That’s when he realizes that he’s curled up around his brother, both of them squeezed into Sam’s narrow dorm bed. Sam’s arms are tucked around Dean’s stomach and his morning wood is snugged right up against Dean’s ass.

_Fuck._

Sam freezes, then gingerly tries to withdraw his arms from around Dean and scoot backward before his brother wakes. He manages to withdraw his right arm, but his left arm’s still pinned under Dean’s sleeping form, so there’s nothing Sam can do as Dean begins to stir, making sleepy, pleased little noises as he wakes.

 _Shitshitshit_ , Sam thinks. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces his body to relax, pretending that he’s still asleep. He feels the exact moment when Dean realizes exactly where he is and who’s wrapped around him when his brother’s breath hitches, his entire body going tense. Dean’s completely, utterly still for a moment, then as if he can’t quite help himself, he rolls his hips back gently against Sam’s stiff cock and it takes _every single ounce_ of Sam’s self-control to keep himself absolutely motionless and not thrust back against Dean.

He bites down on his lip so hard that he’s sure it’s going to leave a nasty bruise, mercilessly stifling the helpless whimper that’s trying its best to claw its way out of his throat. Oh god, what is Dean _doing?_

Dean shifts a little, the swell of his ass still pressed up _perfectly_ against Sam’s aching cock. Sam keeps his eyes squeezed firmly shut and hopes despairingly that Dean _stops moving_ because if his brother keeps that up, Sam’s going to come all over his boxers and Dean’s ass, and if _that_ doesn’t send Dean running for the hills then he’s not sure what will.

After an eternity, Dean finally huffs a soft sigh and tosses the covers back, clambering out of bed. Sam thanks every deity he can think of as Dean opens the bedroom door and strolls out into the living room. He heaves a sigh of relief as he hears his brother clattering around in the bathroom and turning the shower on a moment later, and wastes no time in grabbing a couple of tissues out of the box on his bedside table and wrapping a hand around his throbbing cock.

It only takes three pulls before he’s spilling helplessly into his fist and the wad of tissues, fist stuffed into his mouth to muffle his gasps. He cleans up as best he can, then waits till the shower shuts off and there’s the sound of Dean padding out to the living room, then the low murmurs of Dean and Gary chatting, the clatter of cups as they make coffee.

He can hear quiet snatches of conversation as he rolls out of bed and sneaks furtively across the corridor to the bathroom.

“…creepy as hell. She said she heard weird noises coming from the rec room yesterday, and when she went to check it out, the lights wouldn’t turn on and she swore she felt something brush against her arm – ah, water’s boiled. Pass the kettle, will you?”

“Yeah. Here you go.”

“Thanks.” There’re some brief clinking sounds.

“Sam?” Dean calls from the kitchen as Sam opens the bathroom door. “You up?”

“Gonna take a shower!” he calls back, and hastily shuts the door.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Sam spends most of the day distracted from his classes by the now-justifiable worry that he’s going to accidentally molest his brother in his sleep again. It turns out that that’s the least of his worries, however, because by the time he gets back to his apartment in the evening, his eyes are itching and he can’t stop sneezing.

Dean wanders out of the bedroom as Sam steps into the apartment, and he looks a lot better than he did the last couple of days, alert and clear-eyed, no longer sniffling. The moment he sees Sam, though, his face scrunches up in concern.

“Sam?” Dean comes over as Sam collapses on the couch. He presses a wrist to Sam’s forehead. “Fuck, Sammy, you’re burning up.”

Dean scowls, upset now. “Damn it, I shouldn’t have come here, now I’ve made you sick.”

Sam reaches out to grab his brother’s wrist, forestalling the rest of Dean’s words and his brother’s inevitable accompanying torrent of guilt. Honestly, it feels kind of…nice, to think that Dean drove all the way here when he was falling sick because he wanted to see Sam, wanted Sam to take care of him; because he’s _Sam’s_ to look after, the same way Sam is Dean’s. Even if Sam had to catch his brother’s cold in the process.

“Dean,” he whines a little, trying to sound extra pathetic, because the one sure way to distract Dean from drowning himself in self-loathing and guilt is to make him feel wanted, _needed_ – and that, Sam’s an expert at. He’s always wanted Dean, needed him; wouldn’t know how to stop even if his life depended on it.

“C’mon,” Dean says, half-carrying Sam off the couch. “Let’s get you to bed, Sasquatch.”

Sam lets Dean tuck him into bed, and if he’s a little more clingy and needy than he would normally be, then, well, Dean’s too busy humoring Sam to feel guilty about passing his little brother his cold, and Sam, despite feeling like death warmed over, is kind of enjoying having all of Dean’s attention focused on him, so he figures it all works out.

Dean tries to leave the room in the evening to go and sleep on the couch, but Sam’s having none of it. He curls his fingers around Dean’s wrist and looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes, isn’t above whining, just a little, until Dean capitulates and crawls into bed with him. He curls himself around Sam, smoothing warm hands over Sam’s chilled ones, and Sam makes a content noise, burrowing closer to Dean. Since he’s sick and all, he’s going to let himself have this one indulgence while he can.

He dozes off to Dean’s familiar scent, his brother’s legs tangled with his, Dean’s hand warm on his hip.

The next day is a Saturday, thankfully, so Sam doesn’t miss any classes when he sleeps in until noon and dozes for most of the afternoon as well.

“Weren’t you supposed to leave yesterday to meet Dad?” he asks Dean woozily at some point in the afternoon.

“You let me worry about that, Sammy,” Dean says. His callused hands are gentle as he smooths a lock of hair off Sam’s sweaty forehead.

“’kay,” says Sam sleepily. He nuzzles his head into Dean’s hand then turns his head to brush his lips across the underside of Dean’s wrist, unheeding of his brother’s soft, startled huff, and dozes off again.

By evening, Sam’s feeling much better, enough so that he’s itching to get out of his apartment after being stuck inside for two days. He and Dean have dinner in his dorm’s dining hall again, and as they’re finishing up their food, Dean looks Sam over critically.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Way better.”

“Good,” Dean says, then hesitates. “Look, Sam – I think I’ve gotta head out tonight.”

Sam nods. He doesn’t know what Dean’s been telling Dad so that he can come and see Sam, but he’s pretty sure whatever it is, it’s not the truth. Sam’s suddenly selfishly, fiercely grateful for it, that Dean’s been willing to – well, if not outright _lie_ , then obfuscate the truth a little so that he can come all the way here to see Sam without Dad asking any questions, that his big brother _cares_ enough about Sam to go to all this trouble, although he knows that if actually confronted with this fact Dean will deny it till he’s blue in the face.

They head back to Sam’s apartment so that Dean can pick up his duffle, then Sam goes over to the fridge in his tiny kitchen, rummaging around in it.

“Dean,” he says, “come over here for a sec.”

Dean turns from where he’s shoving some of his shirts back into his duffle. “Hmm?”

He comes over to stand by the refrigerator as Sam removes a four-pack of beer and hands it to him. Dean tilts the bottles one way then another, staring at them curiously. “Never seen this brand before.”

“It’s a craft beer that Gary told me ‘s really good. I got him to pick some up for me when he went home over winter break.” Sam ducks his head sheepishly. “It was s’posed to be a birthday gift for you, but I haven’t seen you since Christmas…”

He lets the words trails off, flustered, the mention of Christmas bringing back the memory of the not-quite-brotherly moment between them at the motel in Carmel, and – fuck, he probably shouldn’t have mentioned Christmas because now the tips of Dean’s ears are a little red and he’s obviously thinking about the same thing. An awkward silence falls between them until Dean licks his lips, clearing his throat nervously.

Dean’s smile is a little flustered, but soft, genuine. “Thanks, Sammy,” he says. He turns, the beer in his hands, then stops. “Hey – y’know what? Keep it for me until I’m back. We’ll share it then.” He hands the beer back to Sam, who nods and puts it back in the refrigerator, trying hard to hide his elated smile at the implication that Dean’ll come back – the first time his brother’s ever made that promise aloud.

Dean walks back over to his duffle, then pauses with his hand hovering over it. “Actually,” he says, mischief creeping into his voice, “I have something for you, too.”

As Sam looks up enquiringly from where he’s been poking around in the refrigerator, a T-shirt hits him in the face. He grabs at it, then stares questioningly at Dean. It’s one of Dean’s T-shirts, a plain dark green one.

Dean’s grin is wicked. “Just thought you might like another T-shirt to add to the collection under your pillow,” he says with mock-innocence, smirking. “To tide you over till I’m back.”

Dean lets himself out of the apartment, whistling cheerily as Sam scowls after him. He should’ve known that Dean isn’t ever going to let the T-shirt incident go.

 

***

 

As Sam’s birthday approaches, his friends decide to organize a night out for him, but he finds himself making excuses about being busy on the day of his birthday, so they decide to go out the night before instead. If Sam’s completely, totally honest with himself, he’s kind of hoping that Dean will stop by on his birthday, but he’s trying not to get his hopes up. Dean’s got his own life to live, too, and he’s already spending so much of his time coming by to see Sam in between hunts.

Anyway, if Dean’s on a hunt right now, the only birthday present Sam wants is for Dean to _not die_ , thank you very much.

Despite himself, Sam actually really enjoys his birthday celebration with his friends. They go to a bar just off-campus so nobody has to drive and all his friends ply him with various strangely-named shots; by the end of the night Sam’s had enough drinks that he can’t quite walk straight. After the other guys leave, he and Gary walk the girls – Jess, Carmen and Pam – back to their dorm, then head back to their apartment, arms slung across each other’s shoulders to prop themselves up.

Gary fumbles with the lock to their apartment as Sam leans against the wall, yawning. “C’mon, dude, hurry up,” he slurs. “I really gotta piss.”

His roommate finally manages to get the door open and they both stumble into the apartment, shoulders knocking together. Gary picks his way through the living room with exaggerated care, heading toward his room as Sam stifles another huge yawn and heads toward the bathroom, unzipping his jeans.

“G’night,” mumbles Gary. “Happy birthday, man. Have fun on your date tomorrow.”

Sam pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Uh?”

You’re gonna be out with your boyfriend tomorrow, aren’t you?” Gary raises an eyebrow, grinning widely. “Telling us all you’re busy with classes on your birthday?” He points a finger accusingly at Sam. “Tomorrow’s _Saturday_ , dude. You’re, like, not subtle at all.”

Sam groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. Shut up, man.” He washes his hands and slinks into his bedroom as Gary laughs loudly and shuts the door to his own bedroom.

Sam turns the light off and settles down on his bed, not quite wasted, just drunk enough to be maudlin. He pulls his phone out from his jeans pocket and drunkenly stares at the glowing screen for a bit, blinking slowly, then opens a new text message window and enters Dean’s number. He laboriously types:

_miss u_

Sam pauses and stares at the little blinking cursor for a long time, thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button.

Taking a deep breath, he hits the ‘send’ button, then immediately thinks, ‘ _fuck_ ’, starts to panic; but there’s no way to take the message back now. He stares fretfully at the little window of text, but there’s no immediate reply: Dean must be asleep, or busy. Or maybe he’s so freaked out by Sam’s clinginess that he’s now driving in the opposite direction from Stanford at a hundred miles an hour.

Sam doesn’t know how long he stares at the screen before he falls into a drunken sleep.

When he wakes up early the next morning with a pounding headache, his phone’s lying on the bed right next to his face, battery almost flat. He only remembers the text message he’d sent after a few moments of wakefulness, whereupon he groans in despair, scrubbing a hand across his eyes and hoping fervently that he just _dreamt_ sending that message.

Wincing, he snatches up his phone: he’s got a new message from Dean. Hands trembling, he opens it.

_miss u too sammy. be home soon_

His heart is pounding hard and he can’t help the rush of warmth that fills him at the word ‘home’.

 

***

 

By the time Sam actually manages to drag himself out of bed, his mouth tasting like something crawled into it and died and head still aching, it’s a little past noon on his birthday. As he finally stumbles out into the living room, yawning and rubbing his eyes exhaustedly, the front door opens and Dean comes in. He’s got a big bruise on one cheek, but other than that, he looks fine, unhurt.

Sam stares at him. “Dean,” he says stupidly. “Dean.”

“That’s my name, Sammy,” Dean says lightly. “Don’t wear it out.”

“You’re back,” Sam says. Apparently his brain is still stuck on stating the obvious.

Dean’s grinning at him now. “Couldn’t miss your birthday, now could I?” he says. He’s carrying a big brown paper bag, which he places on the table. Stepping forward, he takes something from his pocket and hands it to Sam.

Reflexively, Sam closes his hand around it, then looks down at what Dean placed in his palm. It’s a small bottle of aspirin. He smiles sheepishly at Dean. “How did you…?”

Dean snorts. “Just how drunk _were_ you last night?” he says, but Sam hears the question he’s _really_ asking.

“Not so drunk that I didn’t mean it,” he says, and pretends not to notice the flush on Dean’s cheeks, the way his brother ducks his head and those full lips curve up just a tiny bit.

As Sam takes two aspirin with a glass of water, Dean goes over to the paper bag he’d left on the table and rummages around in it, taking out two sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper. He hands one to Sam.

“Figured you’d need one of these,” he says. He pulls out a chair and sits down, unwrapping his own sandwich.

Sam sits down opposite his brother and unwraps his breakfast sandwich. It’s huge and greasy and actually does wonders to settle his stomach; he hadn’t even realized he was hungry, but before he knows it, the sandwich is gone. Dean grins brightly at him from across the table, knocking his ankle against Sam’s under the table and Sam beams back, uncomplicatedly happy.

Dean reaches into the paper bag again and takes out a clear plastic deli takeout box. Sam peers at it curiously. His brother sets it down on the table and opens it; there’s a chocolate cupcake inside, a small candle lying next to it. Dean picks the candle out of the box and sticks it into the cupcake, then digs a lighter out of his pocket.

He lights the candle, then grins at Sam. “Happy birthday, Sammy.” He pushes the cupcake toward Sam. “Gotta make a wish, yeah?”

Sam smiles lopsidedly at his brother, absurdly touched. “Thanks, Dean,” he says. His cheeks hurt from smiling. He leans forward, blowing the candle out.

“What’d you wish for?” Dean asks, taking the fork that Sam hands to him. Sam carefully removes the candle, then they both dig into the cupcake.

 _You_ , Sam doesn’t say. Instead, he just shrugs. “Can’t tell you, or it won’t come true,” he says lightly, and laughs as Dean pouts.

 

***

 

The following week, with finals approaching, Sam meets up with Brady, Gary, Tom, Jess and Carmen at his dorm so they can work on their final projects together. Dean was supposed to get in tonight, but he’d sent Sam a text in the afternoon to tell him that the hunt he and Dad were on was dragging on longer than expected, and he’d probably be there in a few days instead.

It’s been a long day, and since Dean’s not arriving today after all, Sam follows his friends down to the rec room in the basement to relax after dinner. He’s just hanging out with Brady, Gary and Carmen at the foosball table, idly thinking about how Dean’s doing and hoping the hunt is going okay, when the accident happens.

Tom’s at the pool table with Jess, chalking his cue as Jess racks the balls. Jess examines her cue, grumbling that it’s warped, then walks across the room to grab a new cue from the rack hanging on the wall. Sam looks up from the foosball game between Brady and Carmen just as Jess trips, and she falls forward – no, it looks almost like she’s _yanked_ forward violently – and her entire body slams hard into the wall, her head cracking against the wall with a sickening thud and the pool cue falling from her limp hand. Like a puppet with its strings cut, she collapses abruptly to the floor, blood trickling from her temple.

“Jess!” Sam cries out in horror and he stops breathing for a moment even as he jumps to his feet and rushes over to his friend, heart pounding triple time because that’s not _natural_ , the way Jess fell – and fuck, _fuck_ , he’s seen this before on dozens of hunts with Dad and Dean; that’s the work of a spirit, he should have paid more attention when his friends had complained about all the odd things happening in the rec room, maybe he could have prevented this –

He kneels on the ground, gently supporting Jess in his arms as she groans weakly, eyes fluttering open. Their friends gather worriedly around them, Carmen already dialing for an ambulance. Jess’s face is pale, and she clutches at her leg with a moan of pain.

“Don’t move,” Sam tells her gently, frowning worriedly. “I think your leg might be broken. We’ll get you to a hospital, so just hang tight, ‘kay?”

He and Carmen accompany Jess to the hospital, where they find out she has a concussion in addition to the broken leg. Sam calls Jess’s parents, who immediately drive up to Stanford. After he’s made sure that Jess is in stable condition and gets her settled with her parents, Sam heads back to Stanford and goes straight to the library.

He’s got work to do.

 


	5. Chapter 5

After some research, Sam decides that the spirit that’s been causing trouble in the rec room is probably a poltergeist. He checks a couple of books out of the library, returns to his dorm and settles in the ground-floor common room to continue his research.

There’s one thing that’s puzzling him about this: according to what he's read, poltergeists are usually attracted to places closely associated with violence or death, and as far as Sam knows, there’s no reason for his dorm to be one of those places. He’s frowning over a book about ghosts and poltergeists when Brady wanders into the room holding an unopened beer can. Sam hurriedly snaps the book shut.

“What’cha doing?” Brady asks.

“Uh, working on a paper,” Sam says, a little too quickly.

Brady eyes the cover of the book skeptically: _Poltergeists and Other Restless Spirits: An Examination_. Sam clears his throat nervously and hurriedly puts a stack of his notes on top of the book.

“Hm,” Brady says, smirking slightly. He pops the tab on his beer and wanders back out of the room. Sam frowns after him in puzzlement at the odd expression on his friend’s face, then shakes his head and goes back to his book.

He finally finds a purification ritual that should work to get rid of the poltergeist, then spends the next couple of days collecting the ingredients he needs and carefully making the hex bags.

Jess’s parents have brought her back to their house to recuperate, but to Sam’s relief, she’s going to be fine. Her leg is going to take a few months to heal, but she’ll be back at Stanford long before that – in time for finals next week – and in the meantime, Sam and his friends are planning to drive to her parents’ house at the end of the week to visit.

Before that, though, Sam has a poltergeist to get rid of.

The evening he’s ready to perform the purification ritual, he’s carrying the hex bags and has his hand on the doorknob of his apartment when the doorknob turns and the door opens suddenly, forcing Sam to jump back to avoid being hit by the door as it swings open.

Dean steps into the apartment, Sam’s spare key still in his hand, then stops as he sees Sam.

“Oh, are you going out?” he asks, then his eyes narrow when he spots the hex bags. “What’s going on?” he asks abruptly.

With everything that’s happened recently, Sam had actually forgotten that Dean had said he’d be coming by. He quickly explains the events of the past few days, about what’d happened to Jess and his suspicion that it’s a poltergeist that’s been causing all the odd activity in the rec room in the past months, shows Dean the hex bags that he’s prepared.

As he talks, Dean looks concerned, then angry, then more and more furious.

“The _fuck_ , Sam,” he says through gritted teeth. “You were planning to hunt this thing alone, no backup? You haven’t even gone on a hunt in _three years_. You should’ve told me about it!”

“You were busy!” Sam says. “Anyway, _you’ve_ been going on solo hunts.”

“Only one or two!” Dean says. “Most of the time I’m here in between hunts with Dad. And, fuck, if you think I’m letting you hunt alone, you’ve got another damn think coming.”

Sam has to concede the point. It would honestly have been more sensible of him to wait for Dean, especially as, like his brother’s pointed out, he’s not been hunting in three years. But – he hadn’t known when Dean was going to show up, and if he’d waited and the poltergeist had hurt someone else…

Dean seems to know something of what’s going through Sam’s mind, because he doesn’t say anything further, just heaves a long-suffering, resigned sigh and tells Sam to wait in the apartment while he gets a shotgun from the trunk of the Impala.

Sam sits down on the couch to wait, fiddling with the hex bags. When Dean gets back, shotgun in hand, Sam looks up at him, smiling tentatively. Dean looks at him, mouth pursed, then a small reluctant smile tugs at the corners of his lips and Sam gets up, bumping his shoulder against Dean’s companionably and knowing he’s been forgiven.

He’s feeling much better about going after the poltergeist with Dean watching his back, and Sam may not love hunting the way Dean does, but it feels good, knowing that he’s doing something to protect people, with his brother at his side.

“Ready?” Dean asks, and Sam nods, following Dean out the door.

The ritual requires them to place the hex bags in the north, south, east and west walls of each floor of the dorm, so they start on Sam’s floor – the third floor – and work their way downward. Everything goes smoothly, no sign of any disturbance, until they reach the basement.

In the basement, Dean breaks a hole in the drywall and places the first hex bag in the west wall without incident. When Sam places the second one in the north wall, however, there’s an ominous rumble and the door of a storage closet swings open. Sam takes a few hurried steps backward, shoving Dean back, just in time to prevent his brother from being buried in the huge mess of brooms and mops that shoot out of the closet and head straight for them. The brooms and mops clatter loudly into the wall where Sam and Dean had been standing half a second before, and Sam flinches at the noise.

“Shit,” he whispers, and gestures to Dean to hurry up.

They scurry over to the east wall, ducking the brooms and mops that, as if wielded by an invisible and angry assailant, are now taking wide, sweeping swings at them. Dean hisses in pain as one of them gets close enough for the jagged end of its broken handle to tear his sleeve and nick his arm. Sam glances over at his brother in alarm, but thankfully it’s a shallow cut.

They’re not out of the woods yet, though; after Dean’s placed the third hex bag in the east wall, the poltergeist shrieks in rage, whipping open the door of another storage closet and chucking a whole assortment of items that students have stored in there over the years at Sam and Dean. Sam dodges three tennis rackets, a hockey stick, stumbles and almost trips as the tangled line of a fishing rod gets caught around his ankle, then almost gets brained by a bicycle as it flies straight at him. He ducks and looks over at Dean, who’s not faring much better: he’s gripping his shotgun tightly, glancing frantically to his left and right, ducking and weaving through the barrage of items flying at him.

“Goddamn spirits, I swear.” Dean scowls and cocks the shotgun.

“Don’t,” Sam hisses, grabbing Dean’s arm. “Someone might hear the shot and come to investigate, and then they might get hurt.”

“Not like our little friend here isn’t making enough noise to bring the whole dorm downstairs,” Dean mutters, but lowers the gun. He yelps as a dusty towel wraps itself around his head, effectively blindfolding him. Sam helps his brother tug himself free as a large, heavy chest drags itself over to the door to the rec room – where the south wall is, and where the last hex bag needs to go – and barricades the door.

“Fucking _hell,_ ” mutters Dean.

It takes both of them straining with their full strength to shove the chest away from the door and get into the rec room. Inside, it’s even worse: the spirit screeches furiously, whipping torrents of wind across the room, almost like a mini-tornado, throwing pool cues and golf clubs and chessboards at them. The lights flicker then the lightbulbs in the room shatter loudly one by one, until the only light visible comes from the corridor, slanting in through the open rec room door.

They can barely make it halfway across the room, let alone to the far wall where the last hex bag needs to go. Sam’s blinking furiously, his eyes tearing up from the wind; he just manages to get to the south wall, kicks a hole in the drywall, then without any warning the spirit shoves Sam hard sideways against the wall and he feels an unrelenting pressure on his throat; then he’s choking, gasping and it’s a struggle to draw breath, black spots dancing before his eyes.

“Sam!” he distantly hears Dean yell, but he can’t muster the breath or energy to respond. His vision is swimming, his head dull and heavy.

“ _Sammy!_ ” Dean’s yelling, and in the whirlwind of movement around him he registers vaguely that the poltergeist has picked up the foosball table and it’s coming straight at him; the tiny rational part of his mind that’s not busy panicking coolly notes that that’s probably going to crush his skull, if the spirit doesn’t snap his neck first.

There’s an earsplitting _boom_ then suddenly the crushing pressure on his windpipe is gone, the spirit shrieking wildly and dissipating as the salt round Dean fired point-blank from the shotgun sprays through it. Sam gasps wildly and the shock of cool fresh air rushing into his lungs forces him to his knees, lightheaded. A grunt of pain escapes his lips as Dean’s shotgun clatters to the ground and Sam’s abruptly tackled and shoved to one side, his brother’s strong arms secure around him and as they tumble to the side, the foosball table smashes into the wall right where Sam was. There’s a deafening crash as it shatters and then there’re bits of plastic and wood and glass everywhere, raining over both of them and prickling painful over Sam’s skin like a thousand tiny bug bites.

Before the poltergeist can reappear, Sam turns and reaches over as far as he can, shoving the last hex bag into its place. He and Dean both heave a huge sigh of relief as the wind whipping through the room immediately settles, all the objects in the air clattering to the ground and finally lying still.

The silence in the aftermath is almost deafening. Dean’s still wrapped tightly around Sam, both of them breathing hard and shaking badly from adrenaline.

“Sammy, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, “and you wanted to do this _alone_ , you fucking idiot, what the _fuck_ were you thinking, you could’ve _died_ – ”

Sam laughs a little shakily, slides his arms around Dean and buries his nose in his brother’s sweaty hair. “I’m fine, right? Thanks to you.” Better him than Dean, anyway; he’d gladly throw himself in harm’s way a thousand times over rather than see his brother get hurt. Lost in those thoughts, his arms involuntarily tighten around Dean and unthinkingly, he presses a lingering kiss to his brother’s temple.

Dean stiffens in his arms, breath catching, but he doesn’t protest, doesn’t pull away. After a long, tense moment, he huffs a soft sigh then relaxes against Sam, smoothing a hand up and down Sam’s back.

“Sammy?” he breathes softly, tentative.

And in the dark room, finally safe, both of them sprawled on the floor clinging to each other and adrenaline finally starting to settle, Sam takes a deep, slow breath. One more successful hunt under their belts, Dean safe and in his arms, and he feels bold, a little reckless.

“Dean,” he says haltingly. “You never did ask, why I didn’t tell my friends about you.”

There’s a brief silence, and they’re wrapped so tightly around each other that Sam can feel Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “It’s okay,” Dean says finally, almost gentle. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“It’s because,” Sam says in a rush, before he loses his nerve, “ – because I didn’t want them to know, that I’m in love with my brother. And they’d know, the moment I started talking about you. It’s – it’s why I left, partly. Because I didn’t…I didn’t think I could hide it anymore. The way I feel about you.”

The silence drags on a little too long, and Dean is still, tense; feeling his cheeks heat in a rush of shame, Sam starts to pull away, but Dean grabs the front of his shirt, fingers tangling in the soft fabric. Sam flinches, bracing for a punch but then suddenly Dean’s lips are on his, hot and wet and so, so amazing, and Sam gasps into the kiss, pulls Dean closer.

Dean kisses with his entire body, pressing close and warm into Sam’s embrace, broad callused hands sliding sure over Sam’s jaw and slipping through his hair, tugging gently to tip Sam’s head back, baring the vulnerable curve of his neck so that Dean can bite and nip and lick, suck kisses into sweat-damp skin.

Sam curls his palm over Dean’s bicep, tugs his brother up to kiss him like he’s starving for it, like he’s been dreaming of doing for months – _years_ ; like he never dared hope he’d be allowed to. Dean groans fervently into his mouth and then he’s surging into Sam’s lap, tongue in Sam’s mouth and hard cock pressing against Sam’s through two layers of denim, and the reality of Dean in his arms, lips parted and wet, panting and flushed with arousal is so much better than the best fantasy his imagination’s ever managed to conjure up that it kind of blows Sam’s mind.

“Sam, you – I don’t – ” Dean pauses to take a shaky breath. “If you want me to stop, you’ve gotta tell me now, okay?” He curves a palm over Sam’s jaw, brushes his thumb over the bow of Sam’s smiling mouth, leans in to kiss him again. “’Cause if we keep going,” he whispers against Sam’s lips, hushed and serious, “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

Sam laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, no chance,” he says, and kisses Dean again, deep and lingering; blindly flicks the button on his brother’s jeans open with one hand and gets the zipper down, pushes Dean’s jeans and boxer briefs halfway down his thighs so that his hard cock springs free, fat and rosy. He wants to get Dean’s dick in his mouth _so fucking bad_ , releases Dean’s mouth and is bending over to do just that when the distant sound of the door leading down to the basement slamming open and the chatter of voices make them both start guiltily.

Sam glances around at the rec room, at the wreckage of the foosball table surrounding them, bits of debris and broken glass everywhere, broken pool cues and ruined furniture strewn all over the floor. He flinches at the sound of footsteps clattering down the basement stairs.

“ _Shit,_ ” he hisses, scrambling to his feet and holding out a hand to pull Dean up.

Once he’s on his feet, Dean lets go of Sam’s hand to hurriedly yank his jeans and boxer briefs back up, tucking his still half-hard cock back into his underwear. Sam hurries over to pick the shotgun up from where Dean had dropped it earlier, then strides quickly back across the room to his brother.

“Let’s go,” Dean says. He’s grinning bright and reckless, exuberant; he grabs Sam’s free hand and they sprint full-tilt out of the rec room and burst through the emergency exit, the door swinging shut just as the voices behind them grow louder, heavy thumps of footfalls approaching the rec room.

They dash up the three flights of stairs to Sam’s floor, and by the time they burst out onto the landing, hands still clasped together, they’re both laughing wildly, breathlessly, and Sam had forgotten this, the best part of the hunt: the rush of a completed hunt, blood still running hot with adrenaline and exhilaration, Dean safe and by his side…except it’s different now, _better_. There’s still the same frisson of desire in his gut when he glances at Dean but now when Dean looks back it’s with heat in his gaze, dark and hungry, and it’s both unfamiliar and thrilling.

Sam unlocks his apartment door with clumsy fingers and lets Dean pull him into his bedroom, laughing breathlessly as his brother impatiently kicks the door shut behind him. Dean takes the shotgun from Sam – he’d been so busy staring at Dean that he’d almost forgotten he was carrying it – and carefully lays it on top of the dresser, then stalks toward Sam, licking his lips.

Sam reaches for his brother, covering Dean’s lips with his own; they tumble onto Sam’s narrow twin bed in a tangle of arms and legs and fetch up with Sam kneeling over Dean’s splayed legs, their lips still locked as Sam impatiently pulls Dean’s jacket off his shoulders, fingers clenching in soft worn leather. Dean’s muscled body is like a furnace beneath him, mouth hot and wet, his strong broad hands two burning brands on Sam’s back, anchoring him and Sam moans into Dean’s mouth, blindly tries to press closer even though there isn’t even an inch of space between them. When they draw apart, both of them gasping for breath, Sam buries his face in the crook of his brother’s neck, drinking in the familiar smell of him, leather and soap and clean sweat, and he wants Dean so bad that he’s panting with it; licks and bites at Dean’s neck, sucks mouth-shaped bruises into pale golden skin.

Dean lets go of Sam to shrug his jacket and shirt off fully and Sam tosses them aside carelessly before tugging Dean’s T-shirt up and over his brother’s head, Dean raising his arms to help. Bare-chested, Dean grins up at him, all tousled and flushed and happy and Sam loves him _so fucking much_ his entire chest and throat are tight with it, all the air rushing out of his lungs in one trembling breath. He dips his head and captures Dean’s full lips again, whining when his brother pushes him away so he can wrestle Sam’s T-shirt up and off.

Sam’s breath hitches as Dean’s callused thumb flicks over one sensitive nipple, then he groans helplessly as Dean ducks his head and laves at his other nipple with a wet, talented tongue. His skin is tingling all over, super-sensitized under Dean’s hot mouth and broad hands and he arches into Dean, buries his hands in his brother’s short, spiky hair; tangles the fingers of one hand in dark blond strands while his other hand slides over the graceful curve of Dean’s neck and down, down, down over hard muscle and smooth golden skin.

He tries to tug Dean’s jeans off just as Dean tries to do the same to Sam’s. They get hopelessly tangled up for a moment, both of them laughing breathlessly then Sam clambers off Dean’s lap before they both shuck their jeans and underwear at fast as they possibly can. Their clothes end up in a haphazard heap on the floor then Sam slides his arms around his brother, tugs Dean into his lap as he leans back against the pillows so that Dean’s straddling him and they both moan at the press of endless swathes of warm, bare skin, as their cocks snug up together, hot and hard and god, so _perfect_.

“God,” Sam grits out, “ _Dean_ ,” then he’s slamming his mouth over Dean’s again, rolling his hips shamelessly up into Dean’s. Dean grunts into the kiss, reaches between them to close one hand around both their cocks, swallows Sam’s moans as he works them both. Sam clutches frantically at Dean, scrapes blunt nails down his brother’s back and feels Dean shiver responsively against him; he’s so, so hungry for this, burning from the inside out with the need to touch and touch and _touch_.

Dean breaks the kiss to pant for air, lips rosy and swollen, color high on his cheeks and god, he’s so fucking beautiful that Sam can’t tear his eyes away. He closes one hand around Dean’s, their joined hands jerking both their cocks together. Dean’s cock is thick and velvety-smooth, already so wet with precome and flushed a deep, pretty pink. Sam looks down at it and abruptly wants to taste it so bad his mouth is _watering_.

Dean makes a protesting noise as Sam rolls onto his side then flips them over so that Dean’s lying on his back. Dean’s protests fade into wordless gasps and pleas as Sam makes his way down his brother’s body, trails his fingers over dusky nipples that instantly pebble up under his touch, licks and nips down the sculpted plane of his brother’s stomach, sucking livid bruises into Dean’s skin. He noses at the sharp curve of Dean’s hipbone, leaves a trail of wet kisses from hip to stomach then follows the tantalizing trail of hair down to Dean’s cock, rock-hard and curving proudly against his flat belly.

“ _S-Sammy,_ ” Dean whines as Sam buries his nose in the coarse curls at the base of Dean’s cock, inhaling deeply. Dean smells stronger here, something musky and essential and uniquely _Dean_ and Sam’s instantly addicted, heady rush better than any drug. He nudges Dean’s muscular thighs further apart and settles between his brother’s legs, cotton bedsheets cool and soft along the full length of his body and his aching cock pressing hard and needy into the bed. Dean squirms, hands curling into the sheets, babbles pleadingly, “Sam, Sam c’mon god Sammy _please_ …”

Sam noses at the base of Dean’s cock then licks unhurriedly up the shaft, all the way to the tip before he closes his lips around the velvety crown, suckling wetly at it before sliding down, taking more of his big brother’s cock into his mouth.

“Ohgod _fuck,_ ” Dean groans deep and his cock spurts a generous dribble of precome, salty-bitter on Sam’s tongue.

“Mm,” Sam agrees around a mouthful of Dean’s cock, which twitches in response to the vibration, and wraps his hand around the part of Dean’s cock that he can’t get into his mouth.

“Unh,” mumbles Dean, and when Sam looks back up Dean’s mouth has fallen open and his eyes are dark and hungry, hands hovering uncertainly over Sam’s head like he’s dying to touch but isn’t sure he’s allowed to. With his free hand, Sam reaches up and pulls one of Dean’s hands toward his head. Permission received, both of Dean’s hands are instantly in Sam’s hair, fingers twining through the strands and tugging almost to the point of pain as Sam laps hungrily at his brother's swollen cock, slicking it up wet and messy with spit before closing his lips over it again and sucking hard, cheeks hollowing.

“Sam, Sammy, unh – _god_ ,” Dean’s words cut off into a drawn-out groan and his hips snap up helplessly, thrusting into Sam’s mouth and almost choking him until he pulls back just a little. “Yeah, ohhh, so good, gonna kill me baby boy, _fuck_ – ”

It’s so amazing to see Dean like this, gorgeously open and vulnerable and falling apart under Sam. His own neglected cock is killing him, throbbing and leaking precome into the sheets, hips stuttering into the bed just to get that little bit of friction. He redoubles his efforts on Dean’s cock and is rewarded with the sight of his brother’s head thrown back into the pillows, Dean’s long dark lashes fanning his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, full lips parted and chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon.

Then Dean’s fingers are curling in Sam’s hair, tugging him back up and Sam makes a protesting noise low in his throat, Dean’s cock slipping from his lips with a wet obscene pop.

“Wait, Sam, hold on,” Dean is murmuring, strong hands gripping Sam’s shoulders to drag him back up. “Not – don’t wanna come like this. Want – wanna come with you in me, sweetheart, want you buried deep inside me, make me feel you,” and _god_ , if Sam hadn’t already been hard enough to pound nails, this would’ve done it, his beautiful big brother flushed and desperate and begging for him.

“God, _yes,_ ” he says, crawling up over his brother so he can lean down and kiss Dean again, deep and hot and wet. He reaches over Dean and pulls the top drawer of his nightstand open, taking out a condom and a half-empty bottle of lube as Dean half-sits up beneath him, leaning on one elbow. Dean’s eyebrows arch when he catches sight of the bottle, almost two-thirds of the contents already gone.

“Been busy, have we, Sammy?” he says, leering theatrically at Sam, but his tone sounds a little off.

Sam scowls at his brother, a small corner of his mind trying to puzzle out the unfamiliar tone in Dean’s voice. For a brief moment, he considers not saying anything, letting Dean’s assumption stand rather than admitting the truth, which is much more embarrassing, but...

Some obscure instinct makes him mumble, “haven’t been with anyone since you started visiting, actually.” He clears his throat, feeling his face grow hot. “This bottle’s for, uh. Personal use.”

Dean’s expression smooths out and he smirks, all smooth cocky confidence again, and it hits Sam hard then: Dean had been _jealous_. Jealous of the other lovers he’d thought Sam had had, as if he’s not aware that Sam’s so gone on Dean that nobody else Sam’s ever been with in his entire _life_ has meant a single damned thing compared to what he has with Dean.

“Oh?” Dean’s voice is honey and crushed velvet, sparking sweet-hot through Sam’s veins like a whiskey shot straight to the bloodstream. “Did you touch yourself thinking of me, baby boy? Slick that huge cock up and pretend you were filling me up with it?” He curls one wide, warm palm around Sam’s cock, squeezes gently. “God, you’re so big, Sammy, gonna fill me up so good, fuck.”

Sam can’t help it, he rocks forward into Dean’s touch, groaning loud and shameless. “Yes, yes, god, Dean, please, I’ll make it so good for you, let me, please – ” He clumsily uncaps the lube and liberally coats his shaking fingers with it.

Dean smiles up at him and plants his feet flat on the bed, spreads his legs a little wider, inviting, and Sam’s heart is doing funny things in his chest, squeezing tight and making it hard to breathe. He bends to press a tender kiss to the soft skin of Dean’s inner thigh, and Dean makes a soft sound, fingers coming down to card gently through Sam’s hair.

He turns his attention to his brother’s cock again, swallowing Dean down as he eases a lube-slick finger into Dean’s hole, gently pressing past the tight ring of muscle, slowly working his finger in until he’s knuckle-deep in the searing heat of Dean’s body. God, Dean’s incredibly tight and hot, and Sam groans, low and desperate, around Dean’s cock at the feel of it, feels Dean’s fingers curl convulsively into his hair as Dean moans like a porn star, cock jerking in Sam’s mouth.

His brain feels molasses-slow, all the blood in his body currently funneled south and he can’t think of anything but how his aching cock would feel sheathed in the perfect tight heat of Dean’s body. Sam’s leaking precome all over his sheets but he forces himself to take it slow, bobs his head up and down Dean’s length as he pushes a second finger in to join the first, crooks them, searching until he finds the spot that makes Dean shout and buck on his fingers.

He works his brother open, relentlessly massaging Dean’s sweet spot until his brother is dribbling precome all over Sam’s tongue, a stream of incoherent curses tumbling from his lips. Dean’s squirming on the bed, heels pushing hard into the mattress, taut stomach muscles jumping as he tries to shove himself further into Sam’s mouth, onto Sam’s fingers, and god, it’s the _hottest thing ever_.

“C’mon Sam, are you – _god_ – gonna fuck me or not, I – unh – I d-don’t have all day,” Dean demands breathlessly just after Sam’s added a third finger. Dean’s flushed and panting, acres of smooth skin all rosy pink, slick and shiny with sweat. He arches against the bed, trying to push himself further down on Sam’s fingers.

Sam responds by sucking hard on Dean’s cock and cupping his free hand around Dean’s sac, wringing a strangled cry from Dean as he shoves frantically at Sam until Sam reluctantly lets Dean’s swollen cock slide from his lips. The moment his cock is out of Sam’s mouth, Dean immediately wraps his hand tightly around the base, squeezing hard to stave off his impending orgasm and biting desperately on his lower lip, breathing raggedly though his nose.

“God, Sammy,” he mutters hoarsely, “gonna kill me.”

Dean’s splayed out on the bed, head tipped back and muscular thighs spread obscenely wide, miles of smooth golden skin and toned muscle stark against Sam’s white cotton sheets. His hair is matted with sweat, freckles standing out even more than usual against his gorgeously flushed skin, lips a deep rosy pink from how hard he’s been biting them. He still has one hand clenched tightly around the base of his full, weeping cock.

He looks like a damned Renaissance painting – well, a really pornographic one, anyway – and if Sam doesn’t get his dick inside Dean _right the fuck now_ , he’s not going to be held responsible for his actions.

He gently withdraws his fingers from Dean’s hole, his brother whining at the loss, but when Sam tears the condom wrapper open, Dean raises himself up on one elbow.

“I’m clean,” he says.

Sam blinks, tosses both the condom and wrapper off the bed without even looking to see where they land. Dean laughs, warm and affectionate, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Sam crawls over him to kiss him, sweet and deep.

“I’m clean, too,” says Sam, and grabs the bottle of lube from his nightstand with hands gone clumsy with desire. As he sits back on his heels and slicks his cock up, Dean watches him greedily, eyes glazed and tongue swiping unconsciously over his parted lips, like he hasn’t eaten in a month and Sam is the world’s most delicious pie.

Sam wipes his hand on the sheets then leans down to kiss his brother again, deep and wet and filthy-hot, Dean’s hands running through Sam’s hair, strong blunt fingers curling tightly in the long strands and tugging him close. As Sam draws back from the kiss, he drags one of the pillows toward him and gently urges Dean’s hips up, tucking the pillow under Dean’s ass. He guides his cock to Dean’s hole, slowly presses in past the slight resistance, and god, Dean is so tight and hot and _amazing_ that the tiny part of Sam’s mind still capable of thought is a little worried that this is going to be over way, _way_ before it should be.

He slides into Dean excruciatingly slowly, can’t help the groan that stutters out of him as he’s engulfed in the incredible, perfect heat of Dean’s body. Beneath him, Dean’s lips are parted and wet, breaths coming quick and uneven, a tiny frown of concentration creasing his forehead and hips making little jerky motions as he works himself onto Sam’s cock. He’s so damned beautiful like this, panting and squirming under Sam, his swollen, blushing cock dripping precome onto his flat stomach, gloriously rumpled and sweaty and _Sam’s_.

Finally, _finally,_ he’s fully inside Dean, his balls snug against Dean’s ass.  He forces himself to stillness, lets his brother adjust to having Sam’s cock inside him. Sam’s almost delirious with arousal, breathless and dizzy and it’s taking all his concentration to fight back the mindless urge to _thrust_ , bury himself again and again root to tip in the searing heat of Dean’s body.

“Okay?” he murmurs, leaning down to gently brush a few sweaty strands of dark blond hair back from Dean’s forehead.

“Sam,” says Dean, breathlessly.

“Yeah?”

“ _Move._ ”

Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back in, adjusting the angle until Dean cries out and arches up against Sam, heels digging into Sam’s back, fingers clawing into the bedsheets.

“Oh, fuck, Sammy, _yeah,_ ” Dean groans. He reaches for his cock, bobbing wet and rosy against his stomach. Almost before Sam realizes what he’s doing, he’s grabbing Dean’s wrist, pushing Dean’s arm back down to the bed, holding him there.

“Don’t,” he says breathlessly. “Want you to come just from this, Dean, just from feeling me inside you.”

“ _God,_ ” says Dean, panting open-mouthed, and his cock jumps where it’s trapped between him and Sam. Sam’s fucking into him fast and hard now, stroking Dean’s sweet spot with each thrust, punching little stuttering cries out of him.

Sam’s head is swimming with how _incredible_ it feels, buried deep in Dean’s silky heat, his brother flushed and gorgeous beneath him, freckled golden skin slick with sweat, pupils blown and chest heaving. There’s an endless stream of words tumbling from Dean’s lips that mainly seem to consist of _god_ and _Sam_ and _please_ and _yes_.

Sam can feel the pleasure building at the base of his spine, balls tightening, and god, he’s not going to last much longer, wants this to go on forever but being inside Dean feels too damned good.

“ _Dean,_ ” he pants.

“Sammy, Sammy, I’m gonna,” Dean moans, fingers digging into Sam’s arms, and then his cock is jerking, spurting hot and messy, painting long streaks of pearly white over his chest and belly.

The sight of Dean coming without a single touch on his cock is so _blindingly hot_ that Sam’s brain promptly shorts right out and empties itself out of his body through his dick. He’s shuddering, fingers clenching hard into the meat of Dean’s thighs as his cock pulses, filling Dean up.

He hovers over Dean for a moment, trembling and trying to catch his breath, before gingerly pulling out and flopping down half onto the bed and half still on his brother, still breathing hard and heedless of the mess between them. Dean curls an arm around him, smoothing it up and down Sam’s back.

After a few minutes, Dean shoves feebly at him. “You’re heavy, Sasquatch,” he mumbles.

“Mm. Sorry.” Sam rolls off his brother then struggles out of bed, stumbling out into the hallway and into the bathroom to clean up. He returns to his bedroom with a warm, wet cloth and gently swipes it over a languid, boneless Dean, then tosses the cloth on the floor and climbs into bed.

He snuggles up next to Dean, pulling his brother into his arms. Dean grumbles halfheartedly but it’s obviously mostly for show, since not only does he not push Sam away, but actually curls into him, just a tiny bit.

Sam smiles and closes his eyes.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Sam wakes up to sunlight streaming in through the slats of his window blinds, which he’d forgotten to close last night. Dean is still curled up in his arms, deeply asleep and snoring softly, one hand resting possessively on Sam’s bare chest, right over his heart. All their clothes are strewn haphazardly around Sam’s bedroom, Dean’s shirt and underwear in a heap on the floor, Sam’s shirt a crumpled ball at the foot of his bed. Dean’s jacket has inexplicably ended up hanging over the top of Sam’s floor lamp. Sam squints at it in bemusement.

His gaze shifts to Dean as his brother shifts in his sleep, inching even closer to Sam. The warm sunshine turns Dean’s hair a deep burnished gold and makes his freckles stand out bright on smooth fair skin, full rosy lips parted slightly, and he’s so damned gorgeous that Sam can’t help but stare, gently brushing Dean’s messy hair back from his forehead.

Dean stirs, tips his head up and cracks an eye open to see Sam still looking at him.

“Take a picture, dude, it’ll last longer,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling. He leans close to briefly press his lips to Sam’s before throwing the covers back, rubbing his eyes sleepily with one fist and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Leaning down, he digs his boxer briefs out of the pile of clothes on the floor and wriggles into them, then jumps as Sam sits up and curves his palm over the swell of Dean’s ass, ducking his head to drop a kiss on the back of his brother’s neck. Dean turns around, grinning, drags Sam in for a deeper, filthier kiss.

Dean’s underwear ends up back on the floor.

After round three, when they’re both lying side-by-side on their backs on the bed, breathing hard and skin tacky with sweat, Dean shifts slightly, then winces.

“Man, my ass is so sore,” he announces, then rolls over onto his stomach, half-flopped over onto Sam. Sam curls one arm around his brother, tucks the other behind his head and beams contentedly at the ceiling.

Dean elbows Sam hard in the stomach. Sam yelps and doubles over, gasping for air.

“Smug bastard,” Dean sniffs. Sam laughs, joyful, his entire body shaking with it.

“Hey,” Dean says, sitting up suddenly, leaning back on his heels. “Didn’t you say you had exams or something this week?”

Sam blinks. What with the poltergeist, and then everything that’s happened with Dean, he’d completely forgotten than finals are _less than five days away_. He drags a pillow over his face in despair.

“ _Fuuuuuuck,_ ” he moans into the pillow.

 

***

 

Dean leaves to meet Dad three days before finals, but Sam’s not actually sure that Dean’s absence helps him to focus on studying at all, because even when Dean isn’t there, Sam’s still thinking about him _all the damn time_. It feels like he’s fourteen again, awkward and clumsy and in a near-constant state of arousal whenever he’s around his beautiful big brother – well, _that_ part hasn’t changed, at any rate. 

Except it’s even worse now that he knows what Dean tastes like, how he sounds when he comes, because the sense memory of it hits Sam _hard_ at random inconvenient moments – such as right now – and then he winds up with a hard-on tenting his jeans while surrounded by well-worn textbooks and miserable stressed college students in the middle of the Stanford library during finals week.

He sighs in frustration, pushing his textbook aside, and bangs his head gently on the table, almost dislodging Jess’s crutches from where they’re propped against the side of the table. Across from him, Jess looks up from her textbook and raises an eyebrow. Sam smiles back at his friend weakly.

Miraculously, he makes it through finals somehow, and even manages to do pretty damned well. He blames all the evenings he’d spent studying to distract himself from moping over Dean.

His GPA is good enough that if he doesn’t completely fuck up his senior year and does well on the LSAT, he’ll probably be able to get into a pretty good law school. He’s really got to sit down and plan this out properly, decide when to take the LSAT and approach his professors to ask them about writing him recommendation letters, but…but there are some things he needs to figure out, first.

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can still see Jess’s limp body crumpled on the floor of the rec room, leg bent at an awkward angle and face pale, long blonde hair matted with blood. They’d been so lucky, that day, that it hadn’t been worse – Sam’s _seen_ much worse, knows firsthand exactly how much damage an angry spirit can do.

Jess still gets some bad headaches these days, a lingering effect of the concussion she’d suffered, and she’ll be on crutches for a couple more months – but her doctors expect her to make a full recovery, and Sam’s so incredibly grateful for it. He’s not going to dwell on whether he could have prevented his friend from getting hurt, knows that it’s not going to help anyone if he second-guesses himself now, but…it’s in his power to perhaps prevent other people from getting hurt, and that’s something he can’t – _won’t_ – take lightly.

He’s got a year of school left and some time to think about it, but one way or another, he knows it’s not a decision he can put off making forever.

 

***

 

The day after finals results are out, Jess, Pam and Carmen decide to hold a post-finals party at their dorm apartment before on-campus housing closes for summer break. Everyone’s pretty worn down from all the last-minute studying and consecutive late nights in the library, so the idea meets with an enthusiastic response. Pam, Carmen and Tom volunteer to get food and snacks for the party, while Gary, Brady and Sam are put in charge of getting beer. Jess is firmly instructed to relax and let everyone else do the work, which she laughingly accepts only after the entire group threatens her with cancellation of the party otherwise.

On the afternoon of the day of the party, Dean shows up at Sam’s apartment, nodding in greeting to Gary, who’s in the kitchen. He dumps his duffle on the floor by the couch, then wanders into the kitchen to investigate the fridge.

“Whoa,” he says to Gary, who’s busy making himself a sandwich at the kitchen counter. “You two start a brewery while I was away or something?” He pokes at the multiple full shelves of beer in the fridge.

“Party tonight,” Gary says. “At Jess’s.” He lays an extra slice of ham on his sandwich, briefly considers the last slice of ham remaining in the packet in front of him, then takes the slice and shoves it into his mouth whole. "Sam said he told you,” he says, slightly muffled. “You’re in, right?”

“Oh yeah, Sammy did say something about a party,” Dean says, just as Sam finishes brushing his teeth and comes out of the bathroom.

“Dean!” he says, brightening.

Dean grins at him. “Hey, Sammy,” he says warmly.

Gary grabs the plate holding his sandwich, leaves it on the table by the TV, then goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Sam glances over at the TV, where a _Jurassic Park_ rerun is on, then his face falls as he sees Dean’s duffle by the couch. “Oh,” he says softly, biting his lip.

“What is it?” Dean asks, seeing his expression.

“Um,” says Sam. “Nothing.”

Dean scowls at him. “C’mon, I know that look. What’s wrong?”

“I, uh,” says Sam uncertainly. He glances over at the closed bathroom door, then joins Dean in the kitchen, lowering his voice. “You’re, er, planning to sleep on the couch?”

“Oh,” Dean says, then looks a little awkward. “Well, I didn’t wanna _assume._ ”

Sam frowns at him. “You’ve never been shy about using my toothbrush. Or stealing my underwear.”

“That’s different!” Dean says. “Just.” He chews uncertainly on his lower lip. “I didn’t want to assume about _this,_ okay?”

“Oh,” Sam says, then licks his lips nervously. “So you do still want, um.” He gestures between them. “Us?”

Dean looks up at him, and whatever he sees in Sam’s face, it seems to reassure him, because his shoulders relax, and he grins. “’Course I do,” he says. “Dude. Stop being such a _girl._ ”

Sam smiles, crowding Dean back against the door of the fridge. He brings a hand up to cup Dean’s jaw, tilting his brother’s face up to kiss him hard and sweet and dirty, until Dean’s groaning deep in his throat and squirming against Sam, friction in all the best ways.

“I think,” he murmurs against Dean’s lips, “you know _perfectly_ well that I’m not a girl.” He rolls his hips forward into Dean’s for emphasis, the matching bulges in their jeans pressing together, and Dean only manages a strangled moan in agreement.

“Think I could use another reminder,” Dean says, panting, when Sam finally releases him. He grabs Sam’s hand and pulls him toward the bedroom, only letting Sam stop to grab Dean’s duffle on the way.

 

***

 

That evening, Sam and Dean head over to Jess’s apartment for the party, each of them carrying a six-pack of beer. The streets are quiet as many of the students have already left for summer break, long shadows falling as the sun dips below the horizon, and as they walk the few blocks to Jess’s place, Dean quietly slips his free hand into Sam’s, tangling their fingers together. Sam squeezes his brother’s hand and has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.

When they’re in front of Jess’s apartment, though, Dean glances quickly at Sam, a question in his eyes, then untangles his hand from Sam’s. Sam looks over at Dean, then takes his hand again.

“All my friends already think you’re my boyfriend,” he says tentatively.

“’Kay,” Dean says. “That was kinda obvious, actually.”

“You knew?” Sam says, flushing. “But – but you never said anything.”

“’M not blind, Sammy,” Dean says dryly, then glances up at Sam from beneath his eyelashes. “And maybe I didn’t mind,” he mutters, and Sam has to reel him in and kiss him then, smiling.

They draw apart to find that Jess has opened the front door of her apartment, and she, Carmen and Pam are all crowded into the doorway beaming gleefully at them. Behind them, the party’s already in full swing, music blaring and loud cheerful chatter spilling out of the open door.

“Um,” Sam says, blushing. “Hi?”

“God, you two are so disgustingly cute,” Jess says laughingly, maneuvering around the other girls with her crutches as Carmen and Pam take the beers from Sam and Dean and pull them into the apartment, giggling.

 

***

 

“That was fun,” Sam says happily as he and Dean are leaving after the party. They’re both a little tipsy, and Sam takes the opportunity to snuggle up against Dean’s side, leaning against his big brother as they walk back to Sam’s apartment. A gentle breeze ruffles Sam’s hair, the almost-full moon in a clear sky illuminating the silent, empty quad as they walk through it.

“Yeah,” Dean says, then there’s a brief silence before he continues. “Did you know that Jess gave me the hurt-him-and-I’ll-kill-you talk?” He makes a face. “Man, I always thought _I’d_ be the one doing that.”

“W-what?” Sam blinks owlishly at his brother, feeling his cheeks heat. “ _When?_ ”

“Dunno.” Dean shrugs. “Like, three weeks ago?” He grins, wry. “She’s all right, Jess,” he says.

Sam’s mouth drops open, and Dean snorts.

“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “You ain’t as subtle as you think you are, baby boy.”

Sam chokes, feeling like half the blood in his body has rushed up to his cheeks and the other half has migrated down south, because Dean’s not even _trying_ but god, the way he says _baby boy_ , wine-dark and honey-smooth, sends a sharp, aching spike of lust right through Sam’s gut and it’s almost Pavlovian, the way his cock jerks to attention.

Dean, of course, notices Sam’s reaction, damn him.

“Oh?” he purrs. “Like that, do you?” and shoves Sam up against the wall of the building they’re walking by – the library – and cups his hand possessively over the bulge in Sam’s jeans.

“I’ll show you subtle,” says Sam, burying his nose in Dean’s neck, and _bites_.

“Ow!” Dean yelps and there’s a scuffle, both of them pulling and shoving at each other, then they’re kissing again, hard and wet and sloppy. Sam grabs at Dean’s shoulders, but Dean shoves him back against the wall again and, holy fuck, _goes to his knees_ in front of Sam, deftly unzipping Sam’s jeans, shoving his jeans and underwear down over his hips, and Sam groans low and desperate, head hitting the wall with an audible thump as Dean’s perfect pouty lips close over his straining cock and he’s engulfed in warm wet heat.

Sam’s hands wind their way into Dean’s hair without conscious direction, and his fingers clench tight in his brother’s short hair as Dean hums around his cock.

“I-I’m sure – _fuck_ – there are security cameras out here.” Sam pants. “You’re gonna – _oh god_ – get me kicked out of school.”

Dean slides his mouth off Sam’s cock with a loud, wet pop. “Nah, man.” He grins, breathless. “They wouldn’t kick you out, nerd, with your straight As and all.”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam says pleadingly.

“Mm.” Dean licks a long teasing stripe up Sam’s cock, then presses his tongue over the slit, lapping at the precome there. “I could stop.”

“God, Dean, _fuck,_ ohh, don’t you fucking _dare._ ”

Dean laughs, low and hungry. “Gonna suck you off right here, Sam, get this huge cock in my mouth, suck you till you shoot right down my throat.”

He presses his lips to the tip of Sam’s cock, lazily suckles around the sensitive head. Sam’s fingers tighten convulsively in Dean’s hair and he cries out as Dean ducks his head and takes Sam’s cock all the way into his mouth, tight hot perfect suction, and it takes all of Sam’s willpower not to just thrust forward and fuck into that amazing wet heat.

Dean lets Sam’s cock slide from his mouth only to wrap one hand around it, jerking him as he grins up at Sam, gorgeous wicked smile and dark, sensual gaze. “You gonna think of me every time you go to the library now, baby boy? Sit there with all your books open in front of you and remember me on my knees for you with your cock shoved down my throat?” He curls his other hand around Sam’s balls, massaging. “Gonna get hard thinking of me, Sammy, touch yourself under the table imagining you’re fucking your big brother’s mouth?”

“Oh _god,_ ” Sam moans helplessly, so turned on he can’t _breathe_. He’s never going to be able to study in the library again, _ever_.

Dean replaces hands with lips again, starts sucking him in earnest, and _god_ , he’s so good at this, feels so fucking amazing. It’s when he looks up at Sam, long lashes a dark smudge over bright green eyes, pouty lips bruised a deep ruddy pink and stretched wide around Sam’s cock that finally pushes Sam over the edge, and he only just manages to choke out, “ _Dean,_ ” to warn his brother before he’s coming blindingly hard, head thrown back against the wall and panting hard as Dean swallows around his cock, licking him clean.

Dean’s barely gotten his mouth off Sam’s cock before Sam’s hauling him up to kiss him deep and wet, licking demandingly into Dean’s mouth to taste himself. He fumbles the button on Dean’s jeans open, gets the zip down and shoves Dean’s jeans and boxer briefs down, barely gets his hand around Dean’s hard cock before Dean shouts hoarsely, coming all over Sam’s hand and his jeans, hot and messy and perfect.

Sam’s legs finally give out and he slides down the wall, landing in a heap on the grassy turf, ass bare and Dean a contented, limp dead weight in his arms. They’re both silent for a few moments, catching their breath.

Dean tilts his head back to squint at Sam. “Good luck getting any work done here next semester, bitch,” he says, deeply smug.

And slumped here against the wall of his school library under a clear, starry sky, jeans around his knees and shirt rucked up, grass ticklish on the backs of his thighs and Dean half-naked and draped bonelessly across him, Sam can’t help but laugh out loud, the one person he can’t live without curled up in his arms and his heart so full that it feels like his body can’t possibly contain all the joy that wants to bubble out of him.

Family, brothers, best friends, lovers: there’s no one word that can encompass everything he and Dean are to each other. They’ve inadvertently hurt each other before and probably will again, but whatever happens, come hell or high water, he and Dean are at their best when they’re together.

It may have taken them a while to get to this point, but now that they’ve gotten here, Sam’s never letting Dean go.

“Hey.” He nudges Dean. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean turns, tucking an arm around Sam, slotting their bodies together. "I, uh." He clears his throat and when he looks up at Sam, his smile is brilliant. “I, um. Love you too.”

  


	7. Epilogue

** EPILOGUE: ONE YEAR LATER **

Standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, Sam adjusts his cuffs, carefully smooths down his slacks, then slides first one arm, then the other, into his Commencement gown.

“I can’t believe I’m graduating,” he says dazedly.

Behind him, Dean peeks over his shoulder, brushes a microscopic speck of dirt off Sam’s gown, then grins at him in the mirror, every inch the proud big brother.

“Never doubted you would, Sammy,” he says.

Sam turns around, smiling, and pulls his brother into his arms, ducking his head to press a lingering kiss to Dean’s lips, which Dean responds to with gratifying enthusiasm.

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about before Commencement,” he says, just as Dean says, “Got something I need to tell you, actually.”

They stare at each other. “You first,” Sam says, at the same time as Dean says, “what is it?”

Dean sighs, relenting. “So, uh,” he says. “Dad’s been gone for a week. He was working this hunt in Sanger, haven’t heard from him since last Monday.”

Sam frowns. “It’s only been a week. Maybe he’s on radio silence.”

Dean shakes his head. “You know him. Not for this long.”

Sam nods reluctantly, acknowledging the point.

“So I can’t stay long – gotta leave tomorrow, go look for him,” Dean says. He looks apologetic. “Sorry, man. I know we made plans to hang out before you start law school in the summer, but I don’t know how long this is gonna take.”

“I’m coming with you,” says Sam.

Dean freezes. “Come again?” he says carefully.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” Sam says. “I’m not going to law school.”

Dean stares at him blankly. “You did that exam. LSAT. Thing. And you did all the applications and shit. _And_ you got accepted to three different schools!”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “But I’m not going to any of them.”

“What,” Dean says flatly.

“Look, hear me out,” Sam says. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. For at least a year, since – remember the poltergeist in the rec room?”

“The one that almost killed you?” Dean says pointedly. “’Course I remember.”

“Yeah, that one,” Sam says placidly, refusing to rise to the bait. “Well, it hurt Jess pretty bad, and it could’ve been way worse than it was. And that made me start thinking – yeah, I could help people as a lawyer, but there are lots of other lawyers out there. But hunting…” He shrugs. “I may not love it, but you and I – and Dad – are some of the very few people who can protect people from that particular kind of evil.”

Dean’s staring at him, looking a lot stunned, a little hesitant, a little hopeful.

“And,” Sam says, “I don’t know what you’ve been telling Dad the past two years to get him to let you hunt alone so you could come to visit me between hunts – ”

“I’m twenty-six, dude,” Dean interrupts, looking mildly insulted.

“ – but,” Sam continues firmly, “I kind of hate the idea of you hunting alone, without backup.” He ducks his head. “This way, I can watch your back, too.”

Dean’s silent for a long moment. “How much of this is about me?” he asks abruptly.

“A big part,” Sam says honestly. “But not all of it.”

When he raises his head again, Dean’s staring hard at him. “Look, Sam,” he says. “There’s nothing I want more in the world than to be back on the road with you. _Nothing._ But – you’ve made your own life for yourself here, and…I respect that.”

He huffs out an exasperated breath. “I’m proud of you, okay?” he says gruffly. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to give any of this up, for me.”

Sam laughs softly, wry. “And if you think I can live any sort of life that doesn’t have you in it,” he says, gentle and serious, “you haven’t been paying attention.”

There’s a split-second of vulnerability on Dean’s face, a brief, anguished shadow chasing across his expressive features. He doesn’t, however, give voice to the thought Sam knows is weighing heavy on both their minds: _but you left._

Sam draws his brother close, brushes his lips feather-light across Dean’s, trying to convey all the reassurance, all the _love_ he feels in that one gesture.

“I don’t regret coming to Stanford,” he says, soft. “I think it’s something I needed to do, for myself. But I never stopped missing you.” He takes Dean’s hand in his and twines their fingers together, leads Dean over to sit on the edge of his bed beside him. “And it was being here that led me to the decision to go back to hunting. Seeing people I care about get hurt, and realizing that it’s within my power to do something about it. And also realizing,” he clears his throat, a little embarrassed, “that if anything were to happen to you, I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Sam,” Dean says warningly, but he’s smiling, just a tiny bit. “You’re in serious danger of making this into a chick flick moment, here.”

Sam snorts. “ _Fine,_ ” he says. “Just…trust me, okay? I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, and if I want to, I can always apply to law school again later…but now, this is what I want to do. I’m sure of it.” He reaches out, squeezing Dean’s arm. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“I’m well aware,” Dean drawls, dry as dust. He makes a show of looking Sam up and down, leering.

“Jerk,” grumbles Sam, blushing. “So, we’re good?”

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean smiles, voice and eyes painfully fond. “We’re good.”

“Great,” Sam says, and shoves Dean back onto the bed, laughing at his brother’s surprised yelp, then crawls up over Dean’s sprawled form to cover his brother’s mouth with his, reaching one hand between them to undo his jeans.

 

***

 

Sam makes it to his Commencement ceremony with three minutes to spare; he’d had to root hurriedly though his closet to find a new pair of slacks after Dean had come all over the pair Sam had been wearing. Not that he’s _complaining_ about that or anything. When he arrives, all his friends wave him over frantically to get in line to walk up on stage. Gary, who’s in line in front of him, takes one look at Sam’s flushed cheeks, glances over at Dean, who’s walking a bit more bow-legged than usual and has a deeply satisfied _cat who caught the canary_ expression on his face, and rolls his eyes at the two of them. Sam clears his throat awkwardly, blushing.

When it’s Sam’s turn up on stage, he looks out into the audience and sees Dean, sporting a huge, proud grin and the AC/DC T-shirt he’d snagged from its home under Sam’s pillow, and has to duck his head, biting his lip to stifle the gigantic, stupid grin that wants to break over his face. Next to him, Gary shoots him a glance and heaves a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. Sam discreetly elbows his roommate in the side.

When Commencement is over, photos taken and degrees tucked away safely, Sam and his friends retire to a café near campus for a last lunch together before they go their separate ways.

The whole group of them are squeezed into a booth together, four on each side, Dean’s thigh pressed up against Sam’s as he takes a bite of the double cheeseburger he’d ordered.

“So you and Sam are going on a road trip?” Jess asks Dean, who nods. “Mmhmm,” he says, muffled around the food in his mouth.

“You’re so mysterious, Dean,” says Pam with a grin. “You just show up one day and sweep Sam right off his feet, and now you’re whisking him off somewhere.” She leans forward, laughing. “We don’t even know your last name!”

Sam chokes on a mouthful of tomato soup, coughs until his eyes start tearing up. Dean pats Sam’s back as Sam coughs into a paper napkin, then grins smugly at the group around the table.

“It’s Winchester to you lot,” he says, ignoring the desperate strangled sound Sam makes. He sprawls back in the booth complacently, stretching his legs out. “After all, Sammy’s gonna ask me to marry him someday.”

Sam’s sure that his entire face is beet red. Dean winks in an exaggerated manner at him amid a chorus of ‘aww’s from the girls and loud gagging noises from the guys. “And _this_ is what I put up with on a regular basis,” Gary moans pathetically to Tom, who bursts out laughing.

When the conversation has moved on to other topics, though, Dean’s smirk at Sam gentles into a soft, private smile. Sam smiles back, pressing his ankle against Dean’s under the table.

He’s right where he wants to be.

 

***

 

“That the last of it?” Dean asks as Sam piles a stack of textbooks into the back seat of the Impala, then tosses his duffle in.

Sam nods, shutting the car door and turning to take a last, long look at the campus where he’s spent the last four years of his life. Beside him, Dean is silent for a long moment, then he claps Sam on the shoulder and walks round the car to the driver’s side.

Sam opens the passenger door and slides into the seat of the Impala, runs his hand lovingly over familiar leather and chrome. It’s been his home for so many years that just getting in brings back memories of roadside greasy spoons and gas stations, long days of sunlight streaming through the windshield and miles of open road stretching ahead of them, cold winter nights with rain beating against the windows. Those nights were the best, because when it got really cold, Dean would shake out one of the big blankets they kept in the trunk and the two of them would share it, and he’d lean against his brother’s shoulder and breathe in the scent of leather and Dean’s aftershave and _home_.

It’s still his home, as long as Dean’s there too.

He looks up as Dean opens the door and gets into the driver’s seat. “Ready, Sammy?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Sam smiles, leaning over for a tender, lingering kiss. “Let’s go.”

 

End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it's done! Please let me know what you guys thought! A million thanks to everyone who's already left kudos and comments - you guys are the best, and every kudo and comment is treasured ❤


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